


in orbit of & at arm's length

by fervent



Series: different names for the same thing [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, California, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fervent/pseuds/fervent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He gets this mental image of himself like a boy running away from home, bag over his shoulder and stopping at the corner to look back and think goodbye home, but this is Louis looking back and screaming you idiot, you fucking idiot, watching the way their bodies act around the other, slip into this strange magnetism in their movements. And it’s not that Louis can’t remember that, moving out of his way as often as into it, it’s just a moment of weakness in the dark of Zayn's room, thinking the bag on his shoulder isn’t enough. He wants that bathtub back and Niall throwing an arm over him in his sleep. He wants it to rain.</em><br/>A sequel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in orbit of & at arm's length

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY FRICK  
> it's been six months since I started this and I am so ready to free it from my hands!!! I could not have written so much of anyyy of this story as a whole without any of the people in my life whether from a few magical days in Charleston or California or the people I've known forever, etc. so shout-out to people places and things. special special thank you to anyone that sent me anything resembling kind words about acdel- this is for you, all of you. way up I feel blessed, etc.  
> I have to dedicate this to Sika for being my ultimate queen, to Annie for being a genuine beacon in the dark, and to Amy for absolutely everything. Catie thank you for being an incredible beta and my mvp. I love you ALL.  
> Here's to circling around the good things that are never as far as they seem.

 

_PART ONE: DON’T THEY DESERVE SOME MAGIC_

  

_EXT. - THE PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - DAY_

_In the passenger seat of a mid-sized SUV LOUIS TOMLINSON has his feet on the dashboard of the car as ZAYN MALIK drives next to him. It’s a beautiful day on the west coast, the windows are down, a song is on the radio. They both know all the words, something classic like American Pie or Piano Man._

_Out Louis’ window is an expanse of that green-colored shrubbery and dirt that only California seems to flaunt, on Zayn’s side is a never-ending row of condominiums across the highway and cars flying past them in the fast lane. He’s relaxed, has one hand on the wheel and the other out the window._

_Louis glances at the SPEEDOMETER, the CLOCK, back at his PHONE, multiple times as traffic backs up and Zayn slows even further._

  

_EXT. - LAX - DAY_

He and Zayn nearly miss them at the terminal, a string of texts coming through all at once so Louis is distracted- _just landed, slept the whole way/ get me off this plaane/ why is this airport the size of a country/ baggage claim, see you soon ? are you even getting these/ we’re outside/ whoops didn’t turn my data back on_ and he’s typing back in all caps, hands shaking when Zayn slams on the brakes and says, “Shit, that’s them, isn’t it,” swerves over, and it is. It’s them;

Harry in a hat and his sunglasses, already looking the part of the anonymous important person that Los Angeles is full of, casual and interesting and unreal. Can’t believe he knows him. _Button your damn shirt._ Liam sitting on the top of his suitcase, facing mostly away from traffic watching the people walking in and out of the automatic doors behind them. He’s still wearing his sunglasses in his shirt instead of on his face, and Niall, just slightly behind Harry, looking at his phone with his bottom lip between his teeth. Louis’ whole heart is in his fucking face. He’s gotten tan again, feels like he’s stepping back a year in time as he’s about to wonder what he tastes like, but now it’s accompanied by this warm longing to confirm all his freckles, watch him laugh a million times. Knowing he can get away with all of it.

When Niall looks up it’s only at Harry hitting his elbow with a grin, lifting his head toward the car and Louis wants to climb out through his window, moves his hand and all. Meets his eyes and it’s the surest smile he’s ever felt, _you got what it takes to save the world_ , the sound of Zayn’s fingers tapping the steering wheel coming through somehow over the static in his head but it’s there, it’s so _there_. The three of them run over and throw open the trunk then clamber into the back of the car, everyone talking loud and over each other, “Zayn when’d you learn to drive,” “Hi hi hi how are you,” “Caliiiiiiiii sickkkkkk bro,” “Shut the door, Harry, come on,” and they're off, Zayn weaving into the stream of cars leaving the terminal.

LAX is the worst version of hell to drive in and thus it’s been designated the third obstacle on Louis’ Bonus Level of driving lessons for Zayn after successfully getting his license; he's already navigated traffic into downtown though neither of them have a job that requires anything resembling a commute and it took half a fucking tank of gas and two solid hours, as well as a middle of the night “Zayn the tire is flat you have to change it” challenge accomplished with many eye rolls and a surprise display of how strong Zayn is despite his smallness. He’d actually been a natural at driving despite all the hype, read the education manual at least five times and the dusty manual for the Grand Cherokee they bought together from one of their neighbors all the way through. Louis had the brilliant idea to start them in a parking lot to guide him through the basics of maneuvering and it was fine, Zayn was hesitant but only in a distant way, kept saying “This is so weird,” as if he’d forgotten any other words existed. Moving onto actual streets was tough but Zayn was determined, maybe the first time Louis had been able to witness him learning a new skill, hand tight on the door handle for the first twenty minutes at least, but Zayn was like a machine, cataloging his mistakes, panicking only once after accidentally missing a stop sign. Otherwise completely attentive and dedicated, learning quickly but still intent on practicing the required hours. Louis went to the grocery special just to buy a cake to celebrate when he passed his test; called it relief it was over with to his face but they both knew it was pride. Zayn getting that soft smile he shakes off when he catches Louis smiling back at him.

When they finally pull up to the house the boys in the backseat have successfully grilled them about just about everything Louis can think of, as if they haven’t spoken whatsoever in the past three months. Everything from their landlord to the screening of _Rapture_ already two months past to what’s for dinner and ultimately a quick “So how haven’t you killed him yet, Zayn?” from Harry that gets him a serious, “I really don’t know,” from Zayn and Louis is just as quick, “Hey Harry, why don’t you go check that back tire for me,” that everyone laughs at. It feels like they’re coming home for the first time since they moved to California.

 

-

 

In the version of tonight Louis had imagined they’d eaten dinner and gone out to one of the bars he and Zayn had staked out their first few weekends here, some kind of adjustment of the memory of New York and college with who they are now and being across the country; making it all fit into the same world. It’d be loud inside, nothing like Charleston kind of loud, overwhelming and proud about it, the kind of place filled with mostly strangers all there for the same reasons. So easy to buy Niall a dumb not-Palmetto and the rest of them whatever else, to watch and yell at each other over the music, end up in the middle of the room. Niall on just that side of tipsy where he’s the best dancer in the world, Harry with some stranger best friend, Liam and Zayn doing whatever. The kind of shit that leads up to a walk home late with quiet voices, tired leaning into each other, only half on the sidewalk.

Zayn cooks dinner as planned, makes a bunch of kebabs on the grill out back with Niall hovering over him, Liam standing close by with a beer. There’d been a moment they’d all kind of wandered, Harry pulling vegetables out of the fridge while Louis pretended he could possibly stop grinning long enough to help or care to, but it had faded just as quickly as it showed up. Something about all five of them being together again feels like they’ve spent more time around each other than the few nights Zayn had visited in Charleston. They eat with their plates on their laps from the five lawn chairs Zayn had gathered from the alley stretching through their neighborhood and then go inside to kill time, but then Harry falls asleep in his spot on the couch, and then Zayn does too, the night Louis had planned disappearing somewhere in the middle of them switching out disks from _Anchorman_ to _Captain America_. Can’t find it in himself to mind, though, Niall sprawled out across him and Harry half asleep but not quite out enough to not demand Louis keep his hands in his hair. He wants to keep things easy between the two of them but wouldn’t be able to deny that underlying desire to completely sweep him off his feet too; wants to make California look like the kind of world made for fantasy, not real enough for them to have to conquer because they still feel too impossibly good to be true. So he does, just does whatever he wants because if Niall is asking, Louis will always keep his hands moving.

 

-

 

He’s pulling his shirt off when the door opens, watches Niall glance at the new lamp he’s got on his bedside before he smiles quick and has to shake his head at him. “Presumptuous, aren’t we?” Niall bites his lip and Louis is so gone it’s impossible not to laugh, “Hit that switch, yeah?” and then it’s just them in the soft light bedside, crawling into Louis’ bed together, “You didn’t actually expect me to sleep on that sofa,” his arms pulling him in. Louis lets his eyes close just to savor it while they have it, that’s all, huffs out a laugh as he pulls the blanket to his chin. “Thought you might, whining about the floor like that.” Niall’s smiling when he answers, the side of his face resting on Louis’ shoulder. “Liam’s not about to spend the whole night on that couch either, man,” and Louis shifts over, makes at shoving Niall away in disgust but it doesn’t work, both of them laughing. End up facing each other just looking a moment and then it’s a simple matter of Niall pushing past the few inches still between them and kissing him, mouth soft and half a smile fading off his face. Louis can’t help the arch in his back wanting closer, and Niall moves with it, turns and shifts on top of him, whole head resting against his chest as close as he could be, breathing a soft, “Missed you” into his neck as he does.

The ink in his skin has healed by now but he still feels it present like it might not be, where his shorts rest lightly against the skin of his thigh. It’s become habit since he got it to kind of rest a finger to it, just past the edge of his fingertips when he’s standing, within easy reach when he’s sitting, always out of sight. Not to feel it but to know it’s there regardless, something close to red but not quite out of the range of pink, the shape of an oval, the inside of a mouth pressed against skin. It’s meant simply to be a symbol for that time in his life more than anything, or so he tells himself, but he couldn’t separate Niall from it if he wanted to. He doesn’t, hasn’t; wanted gratitude to be a part as well as moving on. _what’s left after the rapture? the heart._ It’s burning beneath the sheet Niall’s hovering under, always too willing to stop at the curve along Louis’ last set of ribs and wait just for the sake of waiting, Louis nervy and oversensitive, not altogether anything less than lucky besides the simple happiness of having nowhere else he’d rather be.

Niall mistakes it for real, at first, can tell just by the way his eyes move around it, form a perimeter of _how could you_ but don't dare look any higher. As if someone else has learned that skin and knows what to do with it. His hands find the curl of hair around Niall’s ears and he has to tell him, then, Niall’s thumb paused just below it. The color of it in the dark not clear, greyed out without enough light in the room. “It’s a tattoo,” in the softest voice he can manage and it’s then finally that Niall meets his eyes again, watches the look on his face change from something close to a frown he won’t fully admit to to uncertainty, some kind of hesitance. “What? It's-” as he cuts himself off, realization wiping his face wide open. The hint of a smile in just the look of his eyes and then closer than close, mouth desperate against his, _the heart. the heart._

They drag it out for hours, seems like, Louis thinking over and over just the first half of that initial _savor this_ , his hands tracing every line of Niall’s body not in prayer but in remembrance, reverent to Charleston, to the couch in their living room and every time he woke up in the middle of the night to this same body just getting home, trying to be quiet in the same careful way, pretty good at it. Niall is slow to the chase, takes his time kissing back, not the slightest hint of hesitance or restraint but holding out the way he loves to. They’ve both been half-hard as long as Niall’s had his hand against his tattoo, Louis practically burning with it but not willing to lead them anywhere in particular. Knows Niall will get them there and that trust is hot, his mouth is hot against his, skin just this side of sweat and his hands against his back and then lower all one long teasing gesture, etc etc etc.

“I thought we weren’t doing this.” Hates the way his heart pounds at the _anything_ that suggests but he keeps his voice steady, noncommittal. “We’re not.” Niall turns his head from where he’s been staring at the ceiling and looks at him a moment, “Louis. A tattoo…?” and it’s only because he knows he’s watching him that he rolls his eyes, shrugs. Niall snorts, turns the rest of his body and cuddles up to his side, closes his eyes. “Only you, I swear.” It’s soft, joking in an intimate way Louis has missed without really thinking about it. He hums and it’s morning, Niall reaching over him to his phone’s alarm now completely under his pillow, both of them squinting at the screen.

 

-

 

 _All These Things That I’ve Done_ on the mix CD Harry’d made specifically for the trip, dug out of his backpack right on day one starts as they pull out of the driveway. They’ve not managed to get through more than a few songs on it between Louis insisting he turn it down so he can talk and Harry insisting they be able to hear it since he put so much effort in etc, but it’s actually unbearably _in the moment_ kind of awful, “Harry, you _didn’t_ ,” and he watches as Harry turns around from the front seat arms stretched out like he’s conducting the goddamn piano, “You fucking sap, oh my god,” but everyone knows the words, don’t they. Yell the first line so loud Harry laughs and can finally turn it up louder than it needs to be by far and yells back wishing he had a motorcycle as he puts his window down and Liam across the backseat follows suit, sticks his head out completely, Niall laughing so hard he shakes against Louis next to him. The bass is making the whole car vibrate and as Niall grabs Louis’ hand he catches Zayn’s eye in the rearview, laughs with him as he finally opens his mouth to sing. _Oh no no no no no help me out_ and the Pacific is clear out the left side of the car, bright blue and gleaming in the sun. It feels like one of those moments that are gilded into your memory, over before they ever began but present in their entirety after, just a bunch of kids on a highway across the country from anywhere they’d call home, singing louder than loud. He doesn’t resist it.

They hit fog as the 1 guides them to the coast approaching Morro Bay and it’s breathtaking, take the exit and venture to the shoreline just Liam saying, “It’s like it goes on forever, isn’t it? Incredible,” with hardly a breath before repeating himself. They end up walking half a mile from where they parked, out past a _DANGEROUS ROCKS - NO TRESPASSING_ sign that Louis is obviously the first to ignore- he wants the water, wants to see it two feet from where he stands, threatening or gently coaxing him out, whatever, close enough to touch. It hasn't gotten familiar yet, being on this coast with the Pacific and not the Atlantic that he knows- he'd talked to his mom about it a few weeks ago and she’d said something that even on the days you could swear one looks just like the other, you get a glimpse of the sky reflected on the surface or a piece of seaweed or rock washed up, and then even the greys look different when you look up again at it as a whole. She'd spent a week on the west coast whenever, some break in college and loves hearing about it now, always wants to know that he's taking advantage of how beautiful California is. Harry has his Hasselblad out and is framing the massive cliff just to the right of their beach, mumbling something about the fog being perfect. No idea what he's talking about but it sounds about right. Zayn's on his second cigarette, keeps shaking out his arms like they're cramped somehow from hardly hanging onto the wheel. They wander out slowly, the boulders at their feet not altogether as steady as they'd looked initially, one step at a time to let their weight shift around and Louis thinks about the marsh back home, watching Niall wade into the creek. This time when he thinks he’s about to fall forward leaning too far he reaches and holds, his palm around his elbow, and when Niall turns to roll his eyes at him he uses the leverage to pull himself forward to the rock next to him. They both smile.   
Everyone is quiet so Louis shouts into the sea, gets an echo back of _king of_ _the world_ from the cliff and they all join in, Harry the last to go with _Hello out there_ at the top of his lungs. Even hours later Louis can still hear _there, there, there_ coming back to him.

The east coast boys are dead set on naming the car, started by Niall who definitely has the worst skill at it but has Harry completely on his side for every suggestion, both of them laughing so hard they're crying in their seats; “Melissa. No, _Amanda_.” They’ve been at it for the ten minute walk back to the car and now ten minutes into the drive before Liam suggests they try more masculine names since _we’re all men here, boys_ and then through some kind of horrifying logic it's literally Doug they settle on, can't stop laughing talking shit, “Thanks for the ride, _Doug_ ,” “ _Doug_ you're just lovely,” etc etc. Louis thinks his eyes might roll out of his head but Zayn is laughing by the end of it and Liam is smiling into the rear view as often as out the front of the car so it’s fine. What’s another fifty thousand inside jokes.

They qualify to travel in the carpool lane which is also endlessly funny to all of them; headed north they're across the highway from the actual shoreline so it’s easy to get distracted by the cars they’re passing rather than the water and Louis designates the standard fast lane _bullshit_ since they mostly have their lane to themselves and he’s pressured Liam to drive ten over rather than Zayn’s five. Liam’s been driving since Morro Bay and Zayn is playing navigator. Playing being the key word since the 1 is a straight shot but Louis isn’t going to call him on it (yet) and he’s enjoying the middle seats, Harry next to him and Niall in the very back, every now and then saying something right in Louis’ ear.

The last hour passes listening to the radio rather than Harry’s mix for the fourth time in a row, Los Padres finally greeting them with a national forest sign that Niall insists they take a group photo in front of, _this might never be given to us again,_ so they do; set Harry’s camera on the hood of the car and then gather to the right unusually serious, arms around each other with smiles in place. Louis is mostly in front but Niall is just to his left, hand at his waist light enough at first to make him squirm, the heat of the sun warm along his face. His smile feels a thousand miles wide, way too big for his face so he can’t help kind of laughing as they wait the last few seconds for the shutter to click. Niall elbows him and he knows the film is going to be a blur of him turning to look, doesn’t care.

When they pull into the campground Bruno Mars is on and Louis gets out of the car at the office to a chorus of boys shouting the chorus of _Locked Out of Heaven_ , all of them mostly straining to reach the note that loudly but that’s not really the point, he figures, _goddamnit_. The ranger doesn’t spare him a word of her spiel about quiet hours and alcohol and Louis has to nod along like he has any chance of controlling them, like he’s not going to be the one leading them toward getting kicked out.

He and Niall leave the boys to set up camp with their pile of supplies and head out for groceries and ice. Everything is a little out of order but they’ve got a good amount of time before sunset and Louis will be damned if he ever tries to contribute to actually putting together a tent, honestly, doesn’t have it in him to even pretend to. Probably should have stopped on the way but it’s fine, they’ll manage, no one will miss them for a few hours.

 

-

 

They’ve been avoiding it, sort of, not in an active way like it’s been related to any context they’ve talked about, really. Just, it’s been so present in Louis’ brain the past few months anyway that talking about it past the questions he’s already asked on the phone seems redundant. _So you’re going straight to Tokyo and then where, and then where, and then where, etc. So you’re actually leaving_. But when it’s just the two of them driving to whatever that city was they last passed before the campground (one of the strangest things about American culture is being vaguely familiar with just about every town in the entire colossal state of California. Five times the size of South Carolina and he doesn’t know half the towns outside a twenty mile radius of Mount Pleasant. Whatever.) and here Niall is, sitting in the front seat of a car he’d named Doug only hours ago, it’s hard to bring it up. He’s still here for a few days, still right here in front of him. And yeah, maybe he’ll be any number of places after this, none of them anywhere Louis knows or knows the name of besides the country, but for now he has this. They both do. A year feels like a long time from now, out of their reach completely.

“Any last meal requests?” He’s pushing the cart and Niall is on shelf duty, grabbing dumb things like bananas and apples while Louis rolls his eyes and scans for the snack aisle. Niall turns back to smile at him, “Nah, Mom made me eat every meal at home for like, a week. I’m good,” as he picks up a lemon and then puts it back down.

“So just a general, like, American summer dinner.” Watches the skin at his neck twist as he turns again, shakes his head slow, can tell he’s rolling his eyes,  
“If this is a lead-up to us eating hot dogs you should know I’m fine with that.”

“I just don’t want you to regret missing out on one last chance to eat the truly American treasure that is grocery-store sushi, if that’s what you want.” Niall rolling his eyes again, “I highly doubt that’s the food I’ll miss in fucking Japan, Lou,” and Louis grins at him, thinks to say _Just looking out_ but Niall’s still watching him, says a quiet, “Love that you’d think that, though,” still smiling and it’s so much for a moment that Louis can’t even look away, standing completely vulnerable across the aisle from about a million cans of tomatoes. He thinks about it only long enough to say yes and then steps forward, kisses Niall just a touch on the mouth, the shape of his face beneath his hand still mostly a smile.

 

-

 

So dinner is the five them competing to catch hot dogs on fire over the campfire Liam managed to build, Zayn chopping onions with a pocket knife on a makeshift cutting board formerly known only as the lid to their cooler. Harry loses his first one straight into the worst of the leftover ashes and they make him take a shot for it, invent a drinking game teasing that for every time he says ‘oops’ or ‘oh shit’ it’s a drink for all of them, half-playing on his nurturing bullshit that doesn’t want to get anyone too drunk and the other half his easygoing amusement with his own clumsiness. It’s not nearly as bad as it used to be so none of them are actually in any danger, but it’s always the thought that counts anyway, Harry so used to it he doesn’t even have to fuck it up to get a joke made at his expense.

Zayn heads the cleaning committee by choice, which is actually only a grocery bag for the packaging and pieces of vegetables since Niall and Louis had forgotten to get paper plates and digging out a thing of hand sanitizer he’d brought from home. Louis is doing his best but it’s admittedly a struggle not to laugh at how conflicted city Zayn is with two days in the wilderness; he’s obviously trying very hard and doing a great job but there are all these moments that Louis can’t help but watch his face for his reaction. He’s so new to so many things here, same as Louis usually, but it’s nice to be able to witness it on his own. For god’s sake he cut an onion on the lid of their cooler.

They sit around the fire just talking until at least midnight and then Zayn asks a harmless, “So like, when do we sleep?” and _finally_ Louis has an excuse to burst because everyone else is, laughing til he’s wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

 

-

 

When Louis wakes up it’s to the sound of Liam trying (struggling) to unzip the door of the tent; they make eye contact as he turns to check they’re all sleeping through it and he looks sheepish, “Thought I heard something.” Louis shakes his head, whispers back, “And you're going to check?” and Liam shuts his mouth and smiles at him, pausing as he wrinkles his nose. “Better to see what kills us?” Louis snorts a laugh and it’s then that Zayn grumbles at them to shut the fuck up so Louis follows Liam out, crawls over Niall still sleeping, hat pulled low over his ears.

The sun has only just risen, still glowing through the morning’s version of golden hour as Liam pokes at the ash of their campfire and gathers more kindling to get it going again. Louis pulls their kettle out of the car and fills it from one of the giant water jugs Zayn had found somewhere, can’t believe they’re all here and this is real. Doesn’t let himself dwell on it. Harry peeks his head out at the smell of the coffee and not long after it’s the four of them sitting in whatever chairs aren’t downwind of the smoke, Zayn still completely dead in the tent. They make more jiffy pop because Niall swears he can get it right this time and he does, so it’s handfuls of popcorn and trail mix for breakfast, coffee with marshmallows and Louis doesn’t fucking dwell on it, just sits there with his hands inside his sweatshirt and a blanket around his shoulders that Niall had thrown at him when he came out, dwells in that. There’s a difference. He’ll swear there is.

 

-

 

They spend the day hiking, split it between the redwoods and the bluffs and then take one of the trails after the first loop that leads down to a rocky beach, most of the afternoon climbing around on cliffs and boulders and then lying in the sand eating peanut butter and jelly on the smashed bread that Harry had sworn he’d protect for lunch. And then the waves, the water.

The forest is perfect once the sun gets shining hot on their campsite as they pack the car back up. Louis can’t resist teasing Liam, “Make sure it’s locked, Li, don’t want that bear from this morning coming back,” so they’re laughing as they follow the rest of them toward the road they took in and most of the day is like that, Harry switching between running ahead with Niall and Zayn or lagging behind with Louis and Liam. It’s one of the best days Louis can remember ever having, hot out but with the breeze off the Pacific and the shade of the redwoods none of them are dying of heat stroke the way they would be in Charleston this late in the summer, and everyone in a good mood, silly from the kind of sleep lying on the ground for hours will give you.  
  
The first trail out of the campsite is a loop through the woods and along the bluffs that make up this part of the coast, _sunlight flooded the valley floor;_ they spend the evening there and no one wants to leave, golden hour so much more ethereal with a whole ocean in the periphery like this, deep cerulean and stunning. Something about the possibility that he might’ve lived his life and not known this, any of this. That what this sky means is the same as this ocean, as the warmth of the fire they’ll make later, the touch of the weight of someone else’s arm against yours in the dark.  
Only the idea of walking through the woods in the dark gets them to pack up and head back as soon as the sun slips beneath the horizon. Harry says they should have brought their blankets down here and slept on the beach and Zayn beats Louis to saying a quick, “Yeah, next time you can carry your pillows through the woods, bro,” that everyone laughs at and Harry smirks. “Alright, then let’s sleep by the fire at least,” like it was his plan all along, easing Zayn into open sky with a counter-offer that’s less compromise and more challenge. Zayn doesn’t refuse it outright and Louis keeps his mouth shut, _some great machinery_ just a quick smile in his direction. Thinks it’ll work out.

So later all five of them, even Zayn through his hesitance about bugs and raccoons and _god knows what else,_ drag their shit out from the tent and Harry sets down a tarp for them to lie on like a sheet, like one big bed on the dirt next to the fire. It’s gotten chilly now that the sun has been down a few hours, not really cold enough to _need_ their sleeping bags but they all crawl into them anyway. And the dark feels so soft around them, the sky like a planetarium above, fire crackling at the edges. It takes his eyes a while to adjust without the glare of it in front of him, and from then on it’s a constant drift in and out of dozing, the boys talking shit about Liam’s dad teaching him how to light a fire when they used to camp and fish on long weekends or whatever, he misses most of it falling asleep.

On his side close next to Niall who’s answering something about not knowing any real constellations since Liam had asked and Louis laughs and opens his eyes, says so only he can hear, “What was all that bullshit in the marsh, then, all those times?” and Niall shrugs, smiling at him, “Bullshit.” Something about the stories that get told and just as commonly forgotten as remembered, the poems in the middle of the night looking upward. Louis fake scoffs, “Beg your pardon.” He’s warm and comfortable and he can tell Niall’s about to fall asleep as he turns over onto his back, still smiling when he gets his eyes to focus on the spread of stars laid out above them. Thinks about _from here to there_ and the fact of them lying here breathing, how many nights in the future he won’t even remember this ever happened. Out of the four thousand stars in our sky, knows he couldn’t line them up to tell even half a story somewhere in the wilderness of South Carolina. Niall scoots over and rests his head on Louis’ arm against his body, crooked in their lineup, and it might as well be goodbye number three for as much as Louis isn’t ready for it. _This is a battle I don’t know how to fight... remember I tried, remember I have a past that includes running away, far away, remember I can hardly stand the thought of that continent. You’re leaving._ He forces himself to sleep.

 

-

 

It’s an old image, worn thin it feels like, but Louis has never seen it up close like this before. Out of nowhere the whole hillside as far as they can see is scattered with the remnants of trees, all blackened from a wildfire. It must have been ages ago with the way the ground has recovered but still, “Should I pull over?” and it’s Harry that speaks up first, a fervent, “Yeah, please,” and it feels like it's just them. Him and these boys that know him and that he knows, and that trust him and that he trusts, and what used to be a fire, what used to be a forest, and if it’s Niall his eyes finally land on of course it is. If it’s Niall then at least Niall is there to look at. Every time he considers the miracle it is that they even know each other he gets a little overwhelmed, but it’s not usually the sight of him itself that makes him breathless, it’s just _knowing_. He’s not sure there’s a difference in seeing and knowing with Niall anymore, not now. Now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. He puts the car in park off the shoulder and everyone gets out, Harry lingering behind to load a new roll of film and that’s who Louis chooses to stay near to. Thinks he could call him out because the short morning they had was noticeably weird and disjointed and knows Harry had seen straight through him but hopes he won’t. _This is a battle I don’t know how to fight_.

They wander around for a while and Louis tries not to let his restlessness show, torn between wanting to get it over with now and get home, go back to being here alone with Zayn, and wanting to never leave this spot right here if it means not losing all over again. Feels like an idiot for ever thinking this would be a good time, that it could be nice to do this all together. There’s a meadow just over the crest of the hill that hadn’t been visible from the road and by the time Louis makes it up he finds Harry half-running to join the other three boys lying in the grass, the perfect picture of summer, easy, Liam lying on his belly next to Zayn. Smiles despite himself and when he meets Niall’s eyes he feels like an idiot all over again, watches the way he’s looking at him and knows it’s forgiveness, some kind of _me too_ that Louis doesn’t deserve but it’s there. They eat the last of the bread with more peanut butter and jelly in that same meadow and then it’s getting dark and they’re only just to Santa Barbara, still two hours from home and Niall’s been sitting next to him since the last time Zayn pulled off for gas, back in Atascadero with the first signs of the sunset, sitting next to him just quiet, all of them quiet, _in the darkest night hour._ He’s actually tired enough to wake himself up as his head falls forward but wants it back, wants to pass out and wake up to their driveway, keep skipping through time in an attempt at making it easier. Niall lets out a quick exhale like half a laugh and Louis glances over at him, sleepy enough to be at the edge of grumpy but he’s met with a look so tender he can’t be defensive, doesn’t even feel it drain out of him and turn into something like a whimper, a _not fair, how could you_ that doesn’t even ask. When Niall wiggles his shoulder at him like an offer he pushes the thought away with a short smile and turns to rest his head on the window, suddenly hesitant with boundaries, doesn’t want a challenge anymore, but Niall isn’t having it; shifts down and slips his arm behind him, fitting his body around his. And when Louis closes his eyes it’s too easy to pretend they’re on a boat in a harbor somewhere neither of them can remember right anymore, the movement of his chest just the waves beneath the hull.

 

-

 

They spend the next day at the beach. Santa Monica is still crowded with tourists this late in the summer but Harry had wanted to get the full experience, still won’t stop saying _Cali_ every chance he gets, and everyone is still tired from camping so they take their time. They cook breakfast at noon and don’t get there until after one but it’s one thing that is true about the goddamn Golden State, there’s always sun to bask in, full days that don’t believe in any color sky but blue.

Liam wants to try out surfing but it’s only the two of them that end up in the waves with boards they’ve rented, everyone else lazy or uninterested, building a sandcastle, whatever. Louis has been out a few times since they moved but only with casual friends that either grew up surfing or just have loads more experience, so it’s a relief to be able to laugh at himself as much as at Liam, neither of them good enough to not get excited just to actually catch one of the small swells that cross their stake-out. East coast surfing does exist and Liam is totally the type to have been out there at five am trying it, but Louis much prefers the beaches of the Pacific to the ragged coast of South Carolina. Something much more honest to it. Liam is so easygoing it’s hours before he even feels the exhaustion in his muscles, Liam asking if they should head in before Niall’s completely cooked. When they look back to shore the boys are all still lying in the sand, Zayn beneath an umbrella, Niall mostly in its shade as well, Harry flat in the sun gesturing about something with both hands in the air above him, hat over his face.

Louis stares straight at Niall, aims his board through the waves right toward him as they make their way in and it hits him for the first time, or at least he actually lets it hit him, or he realizes it like once and for all, like this is it. He doesn’t have the heart to let it be a repeat of Charleston in April, but he’s so tired it’s without a second thought that he walks up and flops down half on top of him, _does water break the light, or light the water._ The sun is starting to set as they pack up and it’s a blur then, the rest of the night, watching it sink into the ocean sitting on the roof of the car, driving home, eating dinner on their patio in the dark. Another last night, another weakness. They lie awake for too long with the early flight ahead of Niall, but both of them can get away with it so they do. Can tell he’s getting anxious, nervous, some combination of the two from the way he’s chewing at his thumbnail and figures he doesn’t really have the right to interfere, what point would that prove. But he’ll be damned if he won’t give a solid effort at distracting him and when Niall looks down at him with a grin before he closes his eyes, Louis wants to know how sometimes a smile in the right context from him can feel like the touch of affection he wasn’t aware he was asking for. How this all works.

When he comes he has half a thought that _time doesn’t stop it stretches forever_. Forgets it in the same moment.

 

-

 

Harry and Liam say goodbye first, both hug him and Harry takes too long as always to let go, a soft _see you soon_ as he steps away with a smile. Zayn is next to him and pulls Harry close after; Liam thanks him for everything muffled into his ear and it’s all over too soon, his world narrowing down with a magnifying glass focus onto just Niall. Niall going to the international terminal, Niall going to Japan with a soft smile and his fucking heart of gold, Louis’ somewhere in his backpack going with him. Not really.

It’s out of him before he can think to stop himself, _tell me one more time_ and Niall says it twice, _love you love you,_ fingers pulling his shirt tight on one side and then pulling away, his mouth leaving a cold spot on Louis’ neck as he turns.

It’s the same song in a different world and Louis swallows hard when Niall looks back once, suddenly, three lines into security, as if to hope _still be standing there_ but not actually believing he will be. Lifts his hand to wave but he’s already turned again, that quick. He leaves, then, doesn’t want this scene, doesn’t want to watch anymore.

As he’s driving back he plays through the past five days, can’t help it; Zayn driving them along this same road and spotting them at the terminal to the coast and the beach and his bed, the barbecue night, the breakfast Harry cooked, Niall’s eyes meeting his across the table as Louis smiled, hitting his front tooth with his glass because it was distracting. It already feels like a different lifetime. He doesn’t let himself cry, tells himself it’s not as bad as he’d thought it would be, that saying goodbye in Charleston had gotten it all out of them, or Niall being the one to leave has some different power over it, somehow. But it’s hard not to assign bittersweet to it, that for all of the bliss of the past five days, Niall is about to get on a plane and become someone even farther than the suntanned skin he left back in Charleston. The next time they see each other could be anything, anytime. Has no idea.

 

 

_PART TWO: A METAPHOR FOR A PUNCH IN THE FACE THAT RESULTS IN A BLACK EYE_

 

It seems almost too much to be able to reference that time in his life as _Rapture_ – talking about the film, sure, but so much else simultaneously: the deep comfort of being home, of Charleston’s warmth, his family, Harry fifteen minutes away again, was he ever happier than in the dark of Niall’s room, waking in the morning to the sun through the curtains. Even his best moments in New York were shadowed by that needy desperation of proving himself, fighting against the hundreds of other people with something to say in his classes and on the sidewalk. Charleston, _Rapture_ , was a fight _for_ , and that, apparently, made all the difference.

He sends Jan an email after a couple quiet months, hasn’t seen him since June and it had been a burst of relief, then, sitting in a theater with Zayn on his right and Jan on his left, that rare moment of satisfaction with what he’s done. The screening had been more than they’d ever hoped for; an independent theater that wanted to include the film in a weekend feature of shorts from the festival circuit had contacted them and worked on putting together a really great set and a party after. Had felt completely real, the kind of shit they moved here to be a part of. Not quite long gone but definitely a bright spot now. Anyway, asks him how Paris is wanting to hear about Laura and their friends, his work, the café they’d gone to every morning after an hour in the studio first _to get the night out_. As is typical he replies that Paris is grey, the same as always, and the work is good, demanding as always, and isn’t it about time Louis ends his vacation and gets to work himself? He laughs, attaches the draft of pages he and Zayn have actually hammered out with a note asking if he’ll be harsh for once, knowing he’ll insist there isn’t enough to be kind to, much less harsh, to tell Zayn hello and remind him to reply to his email. _You’re onto an interesting road, Louis,_ and when Zayn forwards him what he’d gotten later it’s an entire list of things he should look into moving forward– a few plays and links to treatments as found at the LAPL, an actual movie to watch, miraculously, and a few names of artists Louis has never heard of, then a folder attached of photos. _I’m going to reply as soon as I figure out how you managed to get such a fucking great mentor_ at the top, which Louis doesn’t bother responding to.

They’ve met with two studios already, one Danny set up that essentially went nowhere besides getting them free lunch and talking about New York with some guy that lived there ten years ago, and another Zayn had gotten through Arthur. They’d given them a tour of the office and it’d been hard not to be impressed, lots of open space and windows, people dressed like they’re getting paid to look graceful and put together. Olympian Studios want them to write for a few projects they have coming up, maybe even produce them themselves and though they haven’t committed to anything yet, Louis can tell Zayn is interested. It might be nice to have something else to distract them while they write. And an actual source of income.

  
But for all the stepping stones, they haven’t nailed down anything yet. Louis spends a lot of time sitting at his desk staring at his computer, lying on the couch staring at their ceiling, scrolling through Instagram staring at Niall surrounded by things he’s never seen before. All of his selfies with mountains, neon lights, strangers, captioned with “Can’t believe this place” or tagged with people that have their own lives when Louis clicks through to their feeds. Like he’s not the only one to experience Niall appearing and then disappearing, a burst of light every eight thousand years you’re only lucky enough to witness if you happen to be alive for it.

He sets his phone down and gets up because the one thing they _have_ managed is a house with a backyard, even if it is mostly full of stone tile and dirt, waiting to be re-landscaped and lined with a shitty cheap fence and neighbors with small dogs on either side. Zayn loves backyards if only for not having to stand on a sidewalk to smoke and he should be heading out for his afternoon one any time now, he thinks, and maybe they could figure out what the hell they’re doing if they really wanted to but he doesn’t really want to, not right now. Just wants to smoke and not think about anything but the color of the sky.

The first thing Zayn does every day is make his coffee and smoke his first cigarette on the part of the patio that _is_ finished and it’s the last thing he does before bed, as well; Louis sets his internal clock according to Zayn Smoking Time without an actual routine to go by and it’s almost as reliable a rhythm as outside light but for the security lights that line all the houses here. He misses the space of Charleston, sometimes, a yard with trees and waking up to rain some days, marsh grass out the car window, but doesn’t really think about it so much as let it hover in his chest somewhere. His family fills a lot more of a hole than a backyard, Niall and Harry and even Liam stretch him thin, too far away, misses Niall crawling into bed with him somehow, never really figured out how he learned their lock code for the back door. Just the soft sound of someone else walking around the basement in the late morning, who else could it be. Misses who else could it be. It’s warm outside as he waits, sun still bright on his skin and he closes his eyes after a moment, too lazy to go back in for his sunglasses.

He has a few friends from school that ended up here, film majors that wanted Hollywood, the whole production crew, writing teams, blockbusters, etc, mostly acquaintances but a few closer so it’s not like he’s alone in a city of four million. He’s not. He’s got Zayn, obviously, and plans for coffee, for an opening this weekend, an entire party to go to Saturday if he wants. It’s just dumb restlessness, being lazy about leaving the house. Just lonely at two in the afternoon like clockwork, Niall going out every night in Tokyo and then in Seoul and then inevitably in fucking New Delhi and somewhere in Nepal, wherever. He’s been in Los Angeles for nearly four months and has done less than Niall has in a few weeks seriously leaving Charleston for the first time.

Misses the easy spontaneity of Charleston, how they were together there. The laziness and quiet nothing most days hadn’t prepared them for calculating time zones and middle of the night texts and fucking missing each other all the time. Missing like actually missing, losing touch because they can’t fucking seem to win against the sun. And for all they’d tried to leave it open, laughing at the idea of Niall meeting a nice French boy or Louis fucking his way to the top out here, like, Louis kinda regrets it. He doesn’t want “Long Distance,” shudders at the thought of S and that whole mess of a recovery process, but he doesn't have a fucking clue how to navigate this kind of thing with Niall. Feels helpless, everything out of his hands, thousands and thousands of miles away.

Zayn comes outside wearing the same cut-off shirt he’s been sleeping in lately and after a few drags asks Louis how his day was. Louis shrugs. “Alright. Talked to Lottie.” Zayn doesn’t react beyond flicking his cigarette into the glass ashtray on the table that’s been there since before they moved in. Louis hardly notices. There’s a plane flying right over their heads. When he leans back in his chair it’s easy to sink lower and rest his neck on the back of it, look up at the blue of the sky and wonder why it’s blue. He knows why it’s blue. It doesn’t matter. Their afternoons are always quiet like this when they’re both home, languid, full of potential energy that they only put to use if one of them has a purpose for it. Zayn wants to paint the living room.

The last tenants apparently liked hanging things so they spend the first hour after getting back from the hardware store filling holes; Zayn’s on spackling duty and Louis is following behind with a small square of sandpaper. They’ve got _Life After Death_ on the stereo and it feels grown up in a way that’s still new, making a home out of a shitty house. But it's theirs. The first place Louis’ been in that allowed any changes to the property and Zayn is picky about doing the whole thing properly, lays down their camping tarp and makes them do all the edges with masking tape to protect the baseboards and ceiling. He’s picked out a blue that reminds Louis of the east coast, one wall a darker shade than the other three because Zayn is that kind of dedicated. Doesn’t fill their role of producer without reason.

By the time they get to actually putting any paint on they’ve ordered pizza and have gotten a little silly; Louis is trying to insist that mashup of Miley Cyrus and Biggie is as good as the original and Zayn won’t stand for it. They’ve always favored older rap and punk as the common ground between them, Zayn more into R&B and hip hop and Louis pop and indie and whatever, so it’s not as if Louis had started this without knowing what he’s getting into but Zayn is so so adamant. “Fuck no, man, I don’t care.” Louis is hardly even trying. “ _Party in the USA_ , Zayn. Come on.” “You can’t fuck with the original!” He’s raising his voice refilling his pan with paint, one knee bent beneath him. Reminds Louis of a million other times they’ve only half-argued about something except this time it’s Louis basking in the warmth of Zayn sharing this room with him, his energy diffused around and bouncing onto him with every point he tries to make against Miley fucking Cyrus. Something about making a home out of the rooms they share.

 

 

_PART 2B: FIND YOURSELF ALONE_

 

The first time he meets Nick is at a dinner, a long table in the back of a restaurant full of people Louis doesn’t know but is willing to pretend at being interesting for and Nick is seated next to him, dressed in a dark blazer with some kind of printed shirt beneath it looking like Harry Styles. He fills Louis’ glass of wine hardly even looking away from the girl he’s talking to on his other side then just nods when Louis says thanks and Louis pulls his hands from his lap and takes a drink, the wine against his tongue smooth, only half a challenge. He’s kind of bored, hasn’t gotten comfortable yet but that’s probably his own fault, shakes himself out of it. Zayn’s across the table which means they can’t exactly chat and to Louis’ other side is Shawne that he’d played darts against a few weeks ago. They’ve deemed necessary grounds for a rematch, or he has, arguing something about her being drunker than him at the time and an unfair advantage when he hears Nick laugh quietly next to him, not at her. At him. Doesn’t allow himself to physically turn to acknowledge it but he can feel himself shift. Wants to hear it again.

They strike up an actual conversation in between calamari and the third bottle of wine for their end, Nick asks a sincere, “So what is it you do, then, Louis,” and as Louis looks up from his plate he catches Zayn’s eye across the table, smirks small because it’s one thing to hate everything you’re doing when you’re staring at your laptop screen in the dark of your room alone, but at a party with a bunch of people completely engrossed in the _industry_ and their _network,_ your best friend right across the way, well. “I’m one half the best filmmaking team in this whole fucking city.” Grins at Zayn full out as he rolls his eyes. Nick is smiling at him when he turns back, nods, “Well, that’s fair.” His eyes are actually like, twinkling, some kind of air that he knows something Louis doesn't and Louis keeps his smile in place as he looks at him but hesitates a moment, not completely sure what he means. Nick catches it, eyes flicking from one of Louis’ to the other and then the side of his face and back to his eyes, “I knew Zayn was responsible for helping on _Rapture_ but if you’re the other half, then,” and Louis can feel himself blush, his play at cockiness immediately replaced with warmth at the kind of compliment that he can’t seem to get used to accepting. This person saw his film and liked it. He ducks his head down and takes another swallow of wine, nods and winks to cover that he genuinely doesn’t know what to say and Nick sighs, “Honestly are they feeding us at this thing or not?” and the moment hasn’t quite passed but Louis lets it linger as he responds. “Third glass of wine, is it, that gets you drunk?” Nick smiles first, then laughs, _I’ll be the knife on your plate,_ “Second, really, on an empty stomach like I have…” He gives him another look and it dawns on Louis then, that what his eyes are doing, what they’re saying, is an invitation in the same way Louis gives them out. A first impression that’s a test, hardly even a risk to offer because it’s so rare that anyone else gets it right. “But I had you fooled, didn’t I?”

It hadn’t taken long, after that.

Nick becomes a regular in his life, always some kind of plans Louis can barge in on to get him out of the house, probably the best distraction he could’ve hoped for if he’d bothered to. They drink a lot and Louis meets a lot of people he doesn’t really remember to add to their spreadsheet and he stops waiting around for Zayn to get home, makes his own plans, writes his own goddamn story. Doesn’t really write much at all truth be told, just a few lines every now and then into his Notes app, starts to think maybe he can live without Niall, but he’s still automatically adding on the hours whenever he catches sight of a clock, _must be sleeping, probably eating dinner, staying out til dawn must be drunk or high or lonely, miss Thelma miss you miss american accents._ Louis doesn't always let himself reply now, though, sometimes wakes up to a message and lets it sit unanswered just because he knows Niall won’t ask, is just as capable of forgetting completely or pretending it didn’t happen. Neither is better than the alternative.

It’s only when he slows down that he thinks about it, a missed call two weeks into Niall making his way through Japan, a missed call when he made it to Hiroshima. They don’t get through until finally it’s just about Niall’s birthday and he finally pulls it together, can’t let it get to that point. Has to take a deep breath before he texts him nonetheless but it’s as easy as that, still, apparently, _Ya, how’s tomorrow night for you? time diff is 17 from here_ and Louis thinks an unfair _I know_ but types back _so my 7 is your noon, is that good?_ Niall takes a minute to respond and Louis’ nerves are humming the whole time, fidgets and it’s not enough, opens up a text to Nick and then shuts it, doesn’t know. _Yeah, great! Gotta go, talk to you then !_ It feels like a door in the face. Maybe he deserves it, with the way it’s been between them. He texts Nick.

 

-

 

He takes the evening off from their standing studio space rental in a tech office a few miles from home, tells Zayn he’ll be back later and gets a wave from where he’s writing an email across the room. They work weird hours, show up sometime around noon and stay late, past all the other people that work there but it’s good for them. Feels like college, and they’re not employees and don’t want to be so it maintains that state of mind too. He tries to miss the worst of traffic out of the city but it’s honestly impossible to tell what’s worse or better most days; takes forty minutes to get to Santa Monica and then another twenty to find parking that’s not a garage trying to charge for a full day even though it’s past five. Manages to keep his mind at a distance from it, thinks about the project and Harry’s had critique today, he should text him. Thinks about the end of August, the pier at sunset back then, ages ago. And then he finds himself sitting cross-legged on a bench towards the end, his hands in his lap holding his phone because that’s all he’s there for, nothing else to do. He’s here to watch the tourists take their photos and wait for a phone call he only half-hopes will come. Wonders if Niall will remember. When he got so distrusting. How the seagulls here are the same as in Charleston when everything else is so different.

Niall doesn’t call. Dials once and hangs up before it can go to voicemail thinking _at what cost_ ; watches the sun go all the way down and the sky turn as dark as it gets from the end of the pier with a kind of growing devastation then gets up in a rush, walks into the first bar he actually sees off the boardwalk. Doesn’t keep in mind that he’s in Santa Monica and has to drive home, doesn’t think about anything but Niall across the world forgetting him completely. Rinses the bitter taste out of his mouth with something stronger, that he can’t swallow quickly enough. Thinks he’d rather be anywhere else on earth. By the time they’re doing last call Louis knows he’s probably still too drunk to do anything much less get home, fumbles with his phone to call Zayn and when he doesn’t answer he presses send again and again, leaves a message every time. Nothing. _Zayn I don’t know/ I need you to come get me._

He’s walking back toward the pier for the car when his phone finally rings, almost dead but still a goddamn beacon in the dark. Nearly drops it pulling it from his pocket. It’s not Zayn, though, of course it’s not. The tiny contact photo next to Niall’s name is enough to break his heart, feels himself exhale shakily, ten times more sober right away. He swipes over to answer without even thinking about it. Through whatever still greedy, still just wants the sound of his voice in his ear. Doesn’t matter when or how late or what schedule he fucked up; just wants whatever he can get. _You’re very drunk aren’t you, you sentimental idiot. Say hello. Tell him it’s fine. It’s good to hear from him. Tell him he sounds like he’s having an amazing time._

“Hello? Lou you there?”

“Hey Niall,” and it must come out much softer than he means it to, trying to overcompensate for how loud he knows he gets after too much, “Did I wake you? Sorry it’s so late,” trailing off and Louis has no idea how to imagine him. What he’s doing, where his hands are. “Miss you so much, Ni,” thinking _fuck it, fuck this_ , and Niall is quiet a moment too long to hide his surprise, the picture Louis has of him frowning not matching up with the smile in his voice when he does reply, soft. “Oh yeah? Miss you more,” sweet in a way that Louis knows he must know he’s drunk and he doesn’t care, knows Niall won’t say it but he knows, Niall has to know, of course he knows. He’s so gentle. _there are no new waves only ocean_ “Doubt it. Where’re you?” He has no idea where he is himself, where his car is, just headed toward the empty space of sky that means Ocean Avenue and the Pacific, “Just left the hostel, walking trying to find this restaurant, you out on the town? Zaynie out with you?” Louis sighs and looks up from the sidewalk, pulls his shoulders in like a shrug but not, definitely not. “No, no, I was, but– Zayn’s somewhere. I don’t know where. He won’t come.” Niall tuts and through the speaker it’s windy, Louis hasn’t really moved on from _fuck it fuck this_ but now he’s sad, wondering where Zayn is again, where Niall is. Where’s Doug. “I can’t remember where I parked the car.” Niall laughing like he knew he would,“I miss you, come get Doug for me.” He closes his eyes and trips almost immediately, opens them again. Hates being here. Hates this shit. Hates being like this. Niall laughs again, once, sounds wide awake and fresh and soft. It hurts. Niall loves him and it’s evening there, his night is already tomorrow, already almost over. “I wanna go home, Ni.” “I know, me too. But we’re doing good. You’re alright. How’s the Pacific from your side.” I don’t want to talk about the ocean. I feel so small. I want a new try. “It’s good. Big.” He sighs and Niall doesn’t respond, phone buzzes but he keeps talking because he’d rather fill it than let it sit, Zayn probably just now asking if he’s alright. He’s fine. He’ll make it back fine. “It’s kind of funny, you being across the Pacific now instead of the country, you know?” He’s found the lot he parked in, recognizes the blue meter out front, “Like I could have walked over? Before you left. It would have been far but I could’ve done it if I wanted. Probably drown before I could swim that far, though.” Keys are in his pocket and he knows he’s being unfair but he doesn’t care, or is trying not to, but Niall’s still quiet, doesn’t call his bullshit or tell him he was the one that left first and _then_ , that’s when it finally dawns on him that his phone has died. The silence is too clear in his ear. There’s a brief moment where he wonders how long he’s been talking to himself before he realizes that sound of Niall saying _I know, me too_ was the last thing he’d heard from him and then he sinks down into his seat, leans forward and tosses his phone to the passenger side, feels a lump in his throat as he swallows trying not to cry. The leather of the steering wheel against his forehead is hard, worn thin to whatever and he doesn’t sob or breathe, just feels his guts scrunch up and it feels like saran wrap torn but stretched before it tears, ugly and uncomfortable. Regret’s never felt like such an unbearable thing to live with, the weight of what he's lost actively filling his chest, _what if you never have that again, what if this is it now, from now on til you die. Don’t tell me that they’re all the same._

Still doesn’t know if Niall intentionally put off calling or actually forgot, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the same feeling anyway when he wakes up in the front seat later, has to puke in a plastic bag from the floor.

 

-

 

Zayn yanks open the garage door right as he pulls inside to park, a cigarette in his mouth as he scowls at him from the threshold. It’s only just six; regardless of any circumstances he can come up with Zayn is never awake this early and he looks angry and Louis is hungover and more acutely heartbroken than he’s let himself admit to in five months and doesn’t want to deal with it. He’s exhausted. Wouldn’t forgive himself much less expect Zayn to.

When he wakes up his room is that shade of afternoon that’s too bright regardless of how much he drank last night, closer to evening, really, with the way the sun is shining through, but his head hurts. If this was college Zayn would sleep the entire day away with him, not speak to him until the evening when they both happened into the kitchen at the same time and split a gatorade. As it is Zayn is probably waking up same as him, maybe going to Arthur’s or something, still on their version of weekday mode. He’s listening for it when he hears him in the kitchen, the sound of the water filling their coffee maker and the scene takes over—

“You used to take what you wanted, Lou, you know?” He can’t be completely oblivious to the white of his knuckles around the handle of his mug but he doesn’t stop, won’t fucking shut up. “We got this far because you don’t give up on the shit you care about and you’re getting too shitfaced to figure out how to get yourself home at night? That’s not what I signed up for.” _in movies we always see people talking, not listening_ yeah cut to Louis again, “You gotta either let go of him or figure out what to do with that spark. You can’t keep this shit up.” Louis is blind with anger, then, shaking, the draft of the air conditioner on his arms forcing him out of his chair, “Oh bullshit, like it’s that easy. Sorry it’s so fucking inconvenient–” “No, don’t turn this– I’m telling you to get a grip, not save the fucking world.” Or maybe just the look on his face would be enough to stop him. They don’t fight. They rarely even interrupt each other. Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands. His jaw hurts he’s clenching it so hard and he can’t look up from the table, now that he’s started, doesn’t know what to do. _Like you’re so perfect._ Zayn sits down next to him after a moment, sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. They don’t fight. Louis doesn’t call him out on his shit. Zayn doesn’t have any shit. Not like this.

He closes his eyes again, pulls his blanket up to his face. _This is the one_ and can’t finish it.

 

-

 

Zayn goes with him every night he goes out from then on, doesn’t act like the babysitter he’s being, just smiles and shakes hands with whoever, trading stories and going so far as inviting Louis places so he has an alibi if he wants it, if Louis would dare call him out. It works though. Has two more rough nights one after the other that next weekend, then finishes Saturday spread across the backseat of the car begging Zayn to drive more carefully even as he knows he’s taking every turn so slow it’s hardly a turn at all. Pukes in the fucking front yard as soon as they get there regardless.

He wakes up on the couch with a pillow under his head and a blanket over the lower half of his body, his jacket tossed on the coat rack they have by the door. Can’t remember most of it but knows he must have apologized fifty times, feels exhausted with it, with all of it. Calls off the search.

 

-

 

 _So what are you going to do._ S had been a grand gesture. Paris and London had all the potential of being cinematic and some kind of _solving the loose ends_ bullshit that signifies a happy ending. And it’s not that Niall couldn’t be that, maybe, just that it wouldn't necessarily prove anything at this point. Louis isn’t about to fly to Asia and give the romantic reunion scene another shot. He flicks through Facebook again, the album of 257 photos Niall has titled _World Travels_ and both of his parents have gone through and commented all over, thinks he’d probably do the same goddamn thing if this were different. Different in any way.

So much of Niall looks like it’s just close to being enough; his skinny legs, friends with everyone he meets etc etc that Louis knows people don’t often give him a second glance. And he’s guilty of it too, he’s known him as Harry’s roommate longer than anything else and maybe this was a long time coming or whatever but all the same. Wishes they could have had more time together. It’s always right about this time every time that it hits him _you left; it was you_.

Niall is in South Korea and Louis is still in bed at noon, at three, watching when Niall posts a photo of the skyline of Seoul captioned _Namhansanseong, South Korea_ on Instagram and Louis can just picture him typing it one letter at a time, _not to rust with use but to shine._ He thinks about Liam on the bike, shooting those scenes and how it had felt to follow someone through streets he knew better than anything, looking at them on film and seeing it like a memory, watching it in a theater and _being_ there, feeling that warm air gusting around him in his seat, the smell of Zayn's cigarette in the front drifting back to him. It’s not real and he knows that, can say it until he’s blue in the face but it’s not going away.

 _The film opens with her dropping a cigarette, rubbing the toe of her shoe into it outside some club and she looks inside and we know there are people in there that are waiting for her, that will wonder where she is, what’s taking so long. Her hands are in her pockets as she hesitates and then she walks away. Cut to a convenience store, a man at the counter with a lottery ticket_  
_The film opens with her holding a cigarette in her mouth & it’s not yet lit & she’s got her lighter up to her face, paused because she’s about to light it. She drops the lighter when she clicks it down and_  
_The film opens_  
_The film opens in the front seat of a car_  
_The film opens with her stealing the cigarette out of someone else’s mouth, putting it out on the ledge of the window they’re standing next to_  
_The film opens with her smoking a whole pack of cigarettes, one after the other. She is lying in a bed with light blue sheets and white pillowcases and her ashtray is a coffee mug that says The Big Apple with a bright red apple on it, no no no this has to be something we can’t fall in love with  
_ _The film opens with her dropping a cigarette. She’s on a sidewalk and it’s night and it falls still lit, still halfway to go but just before it hits the ground we cut to a grassland on fire. The smoke fills the room._

The air conditioning kicks on and he turns over, shoves the pages off the side of his bed and it feels wrong. Looks at the photo he has taped to his wall opposite, standing behind Niall last year at Upper Deck one of those times, doesn’t know what they were celebrating but it was something. Had to’ve been. The cotton of his t-shirt between his hands and then beneath his arm at his ribs just a moment away from tickling him, the curve of his spine as he moved away, laughing _I knew you were going to do that goddamnit_ and it doesn’t hurt to remember, it’s just the fact of lying in bed alone. Presses the side of his face into his pillow, the sound of his ear against it loud for a moment and then it’s his heartbeat through his skull, warm despite everything and when he swallows he can hear the spit in his mouth as it goes down his throat. I’m not telling you anything else.

 

-

 

The time difference between Chicago and LA is only a couple hours but Harry has always been an earlier sleeper than Louis anyway so they end up with a lot of evening calls while Harry’s getting ready to go to bed and Louis is just finishing dinner or up late, waiting to go out, whatever. Harry is the only person he knows that will call just because, the middle of the day or night, wanting to know the name of some film or whether he’s had any avocados lately, stupid shit that means the world to both of them. He’s doing well in Chicago as far as Louis can tell, keeps mentioning openings and his studiomates, loves the students in the intro to photo class he’s assisting. He’s always thrived in new situations and Louis is excited for him, knows he’ll get whatever he wants out of grad school and a big city after building up to it for so long.

It's not the first time Harry has asked but he doesn't seem able to let it go as easy this time. “Dunno why you wanna disappear so bad,” and if it were anyone else he would have hung up ages ago but it’s Harry and as it is he’s just tired. “If anything he’s at least a good friend to have.” It’s not funny. He misses loving him and it’s not funny and he doesn’t want to talk about disappearing. Isn’t that the whole point of the trick, isn’t that what they say. Never giving it away.

 

-

 

He ends up at Nicks on a whim, texting while he’s already driving over to see if it’s alright. Nick sends him a quick _yes but I’m headed to bed before long_ and Louis doesn’t bother responding, already five minutes away.

He spills his entire sad story to him two hours later in Nick’s room, watching him set out his clothes for tomorrow and brush his teeth. Niall is in Australia now, his first of two whole weeks of sun even brighter than Los Angeles and it’s kind of a comforting thought to know he could be doing anything right now, eating a late lunch or lying in the sand, renting a boat _getting carried away with yourself_. “So we kind of decided it’d just be better to leave it in Charleston, like, it was what it was... we’re both in different places now.” Nick meets his eyes through the mirror above his sink and the wood of the doorframe digs into Louis arm as he shifts, watches him spit out his toothpaste. “Do you want to..?” gesturing at the sink and Louis nods so they switch positions, can feel him watching as he readies the spare toothbrush he’s used a couple times before this. Nick finally sighs softly, “So was it you or him that didn’t want to deal with distance?” and Louis knows he glances up too sharply to get away with it but he can’t help remembering Niall’s face throughout their conversation, as short and sort of stilted as it had been. Hesitant, following Louis’ lead almost and Louis hadn’t _not_ seen it but had also been able to focus on him nodding and saying _no yeah that’s good we should be able to,_ trailing off a bit before clearing his throat quickly and speeding up through _to meet people, do what we want_. Louis had noticed it, is the thing. He’d noticed it and pretended it wasn’t a front. Nick’s looking at him like he’s expecting an answer and Louis can’t think of anything to say around his toothbrush but the truth. “Me I guess.” He waits a moment, thinking about it and feeling incredibly guilty, defensive, “But he didn’t put up a fight. It made sense. For both of us. He’s across the entire world, and I’m here, and we won’t even have the chance to be in the same room for a year, long as he’s gone,” Nick soft around the edges, “So you said,” and Louis feels himself slow again, spits, rinses his mouth out. When he turns to Nick he’s still just watching him and for once Louis doesn’t care what he’s thinking of him, what judgement he could pass. Just that he listened, that someone else knows.

“I’ve done distance, and it didn’t work.” There’s absolutely no way to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Nick tightens his mouth just a moment like he’s thinking something sad and Louis wishes he had the patience for being pitied right now because he’s here, isn’t he, isn’t that what he’s asking for. Nick skips right past it, though, reaches gently for him and asks, “Can I kiss you?” and Louis nods without hesitating because it feels like Nick isn’t asking to be romantic, just to care in a way that’s physical, something more to the point than a hand on his shoulder. His mouth is careful against his and he does that thing with his hands where he's cradling Louis’ jaw within them and it’s so tender Louis can hardly stand it but it feels so good, such a relief to not have to talk about how much he misses _knowing,_ to have some other way to speak around it. They move to his bed after a while and as Louis sits down on it Nick brushes a hand down his arm, thumb following his fingers and pulling away. Louis watches him walk over to his closet and unbutton his shirt then turns over, gets under the comforter and looks out the big window of a wall across the room, doesn’t get ahead of himself. Keeps it close. Only here.

He falls asleep early next to him, too comfortable not to, and wakes up to him moving around the room in the dark, holding his phone out like a flashlight. His phone says it’s just past five and Louis can’t remember the last time he woke up this early but he goes with it, sits up halfway, Nick asking if he minds if he turns a light on before he does, just a small one in his closet across the room. There’s something very intimate about watching someone put on their socks, Louis thinks, feels like even if they haven’t had sex there’s an added layer just from waking up together, witnessing this. Still warm and too comfortable to commit to actually moving but Nick seems fine with it, a yawn every now and then but otherwise awake and apparently used to getting dressed in the almost dark.

When he leaves the room Louis scoots out of bed and pulls his jeans back on, follows to the kitchen. Watches him make coffee and they don’t speak really but Louis slips his shoes on and follows him out the door, pauses by Nick’s car in the driveway and Nick doesn’t say goodbye or see you soon, he says _take care_ which has always been a soft spot for Louis, words he’s reserved for his mom or S, the last time they’d spoken, _take care_ , gentle and forgiving and not expecting anything in return. Louis says you too and a quieter thanks and they hug, briefly, before he walks to his car at the curb and gets in.

 

-

 

This time he wears the jacket of his suit from Tribeca, feels a different kind of nerves when he shrugs it on over his shoulders; both of them in all black same as New York but now not out of that self-satisfaction that lingers past winning Audience Choice and collecting a prize they hadn’t intended to ever come close to, just nervous and trying not to let it show. Zayn does a great job of ignoring his complete inability to shut his mouth and it’s fine, feels like going to critique or something except they leave with too much time and get to the bullshit slick office of Reliant Media early enough to share a cigarette and Louis to suggest they write and star in a spy movie, fuck the conceptual shit. Zayn rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, let’s just tell ‘em we've had a change of heart, need to add more suits and cigars.” The smile they give each other should be a sign, probably, of something too good to be true.

It goes terribly. They walk out after and Zayn immediately pulls his tie from around his neck, doesn’t say anything and Louis is glad for it, doesn’t want to talk.

The executives and professional writers wearing actual pressed jeans want to make it into a feature. They’d known that going in from the initial meeting and emails so it wasn't like they were blindsided when the _brainstorming session_ turned away from their suggestions of a new film, a part two or a second chapter. Reliant wants the _Before_. And Louis can understand that, the gamble of a new project opposed to an extension of one that's already proven itself, but he doesn’t want to give that to anyone, much less a whole audience. Doesn’t want to write about it or fucking recreate it. They’d reached an ugly kind of stalemate, clearly going nowhere after an hour of _It’s not about that’_ s and clenched jaws and shaken hands and goodbye had been a grimaced kind of “We’ll talk soon” that Louis hadn’t even

“I hate doing this.” The fronds of a planted fern swaying behind Zayn’s head. Bricks of a half-wall to separate the patio seating from the sidewalk. “It’s such bullshit.” He leans back all the way in his chair, catches a glimpse of Zayn chewing on his straw the same way he did in school at whatever bar down the street, Zeke’s usually, misses that corner booth they’d hole up in. Misses Collective back home, Harry stopping in, asking who Louis knows that’s strong enough to lug Liam around, laughing, _Zayn could I bet_ , _just wait._ “Then let’s stop.” Says it in that shrugging way he does but with the eye contact that means he’s the most serious; Louis narrows his eyes. “We can’t just stop.” As blank as ever. “I don’t want to stop.” Zayn actually shrugs, then, finally speaks up. “I don’t want to stop either. But we’ve gotta figure something out, man. I hate it too.”

And that’s what ends it. They go home and Zayn smokes a cigarette out back while Louis hangs his suit in the corner of his closet and when he sits outside next to Z it occurs to him that everything he had planned for moving to LA has literally gone to shit and he starts to laugh. Zayn’s quick to ask what’s so funny but Louis can only manage a _fuck, everything_ before he catches on and it’s been ages since they’ve laughed this hard without about an hour’s worth of weed beforehand but it feels good, crisp and sharp, an edge to kick off from maybe. Zayn’s still smiling when he says, “We should call Shawne,” like it’s just now occurred to him as he’s saying it, and Louis hardly even thinks _sure what the hell_ before agreeing, grabs his pack of Marlboros and lights one without a pause to ask.

 

-

 

Louis shows her the few separate edits they’ve done of stuff that had no place in _Rapture_ , lets Zayn talk about the script and how they’ve been writing and what _Post_ is, what they’re talking about and watches her, gauges her interest and potential. Not that he has any real idea what she does or can do but there's something to her that he recognizes, some kind of intuition that feels like she could be good here.

“So films within films. Kind of. Like episodes?” and Louis shakes his head, “Sort of. If the storyline is like, a metaphor instead of a plot. Not a sequence so much as one image.” She nods, sits back a bit and Louis breathes out in relief. Automatically a good sign if she isn't frowning. “So what's the difference between this and _Rapture_?” and Louis looks at Zayn, thinks, _well Niall isn’t here_ and that’s terrible, useless, not an answer. She keeps going, clearly noting his hesitance, “I mean, you did the short cut version of endings with that, is this supposed to be a resolution to that? Is this even connected to it?” Louis imagines a tiny string above him stretched to somewhere in Spain and Zayn says thoughtfully, “We’re thinking a lot about that, in a general sense, both of those things. Right now it seems like yeah, it’s connected and it’s a resolution, or an attempt at one, I think, but I’m not sure we’ll know until we get farther along…”

It’s late when she leaves, the three of them all tired but overwhelmingly positive, Shawne saying “We’ll talk soon, send me more,” as a goodbye that reminds him of Jan.  


He tries calling Harry but doesn’t get an answer, sends a quick text after _all fine just missed you_ and peeks his head into Zayn’s room on his way down the hall, gets a raised eyebrow and Louis shrugs, “Not tired.” "How?" Hardly a second passes before Zayn says a quiet, “Come on then,” and Louis crawls into his bed with his laptop. He goes through the footage a few more times not really doing anything and feels Zayn sink lower and fall asleep next to him, pillow behind his head crushed into a ball, eyelashes stupid long and dark against his cheeks. There has to be something he’s missing, why they’re stuck and not talking about it, what isn’t matching up. Ends up way back in his archive in some folder named _misc_ thinking something indistinct about what comes after the end, how does life go on, clicking through. It’s the footage from the boat in the storm.

He gets this mental image of himself like a boy running away from home, bag over his shoulder and stopping at the corner to look back and think _goodbye home_ , but this is Louis looking back and screaming _you idiot, you fucking idiot_ , watching the way their bodies act around the other, slip into this strange magnetism in their movements. And it’s not that Louis can’t remember that, moving out of his way as often as into it, it’s just a moment of weakness in the dark of Zayn's room, thinking the bag on his shoulder isn’t enough. He wants that bathtub back and Niall throwing an arm over him in his sleep. He wants it to rain.

_He made me feel like the entire story of my life had been lived for his audience alone._

One of these days it’s going to get easier. It has to.

 

-

 

He doesn’t tell anyone he’s been falling asleep to one four-minute-long [recording](https://www.freesound.org/people/Corsica_S/sounds/197714/#) of the Atlantic on repeat, the waves so loud he’d felt physically nervous the first time he’d listened to it. Doesn’t tell anyone that more often than not he ends up staring at his ceiling until three am working through lines that have no place anywhere outside his head. _The film opens with a flare gun in the hands of a boy on the side of a road, nowhere, middle of winter. Close-up of his neck. Close-up of his chest, shirtless now, the hollow of his sternum as he breathes hard, fogs it out in front of him. At an angle, snow along the road behind him. From a distance. And yet a farther distance. He just stands there. There is a flare in your hand as well but neither of you are going to ignite them. After a while the audience realizes it too._ Harry talks him through fifty new things he’s working on on the phone and Louis doesn’t tell him that he has no idea how to conquer this. That in every recording he’s found of the Pacific, trying to trick himself into settling into a place bounded by the wrong fucking ocean, the sound is all wrong, waves too drawn out or overlapping so they’re not even discernible as separate from each other.

 

-

 

They sign on for a project with Olympian after all, should have enough to live on for a while and it’s the kind of thing they would have excelled at in school; a series of videos for a clothing company that’s all concept, human shit that’s positive and inspiring or whatever. Shawne laughs when Louis tells her later, “What the hell does anything happy even look like from you?” and Zayn laughs right along with her and Louis knows she’s teasing but still wants to defend himself a bit. Zayn beats him to it. “Probably still end up crying,” squinting at him through his grin, and Shawne laughs and laughs. Louis can’t find it in himself to even try. “Alright alright, whatever.” It feels good to have people that believe in him enough to tease him. That know what he’s done and will challenge him to do something better. Something new. He isn’t sure what they’ll come up with but it’s exciting, knows whatever it is they get to have a crew again and the pressure of a deadline, something bigger than whatever they can come up with on their own terms.

Including Shawne they’ve assembled a group of other friends turned assistants; no one ever has enough help for whatever project and both of them have worked on a few shoots together and done some editing for Jan if only to keep in practice. Writing is hard, has always been hard, and this time they’re looser than ever on even a starting point without the guidance or consult of a studio. Or the backing. Kind of needless to say that both of them are glad for the distraction.

He hasn’t replied to Jan’s last email asking when they’re going to start filming, that maybe what they need to do is actually _do_ something and stop thinking so much. Reminds him of the day trip they’d done to Chenonceaux with no priorities or plans, how good their ideas had felt that night in the studio. The lasting memory Louis has is seeing the castle and thinking about fate, wondering what the hell he was doing in France with this artist he didn’t deserve as asking him to define love with an accent he’d never forget. Staring at that castle and thinking about home first, and then S, and then the Atlantic Ocean between France and Charleston. Where’s Niall now. Africa, he thinks. He’d stalled on answering, caught off-guard and they were leaving anyway, could get away with it. A few days later they’d gone to the Louvre, an exhibition about Delacroix with access to the garden eventually distracting him from the hugeness of the museum and walls covered in frames larger than his room in New York. He’d wandered into Delacroix’s theory of why one makes art, something important, a focus on memory as a way to pin things down, to make the fleeting moment tangible. He’d thought about S and trust, told Jan he thought it had to be something with that, with the other person being who you trust to make you better. And together you both were.

Thanksgiving is that same week, out of any obligations for a long long weekend from Olympian and on their own in a bright blue kind of sky, warm in the sun. The two of them are both more homesick than they could even admit to and spend most of the morning watching _Wolverine_ then calling home, families three hours ahead and full of _We’ll see you at Christmas_ kind of goodbyes. Dinner is nice, though, Shawne hosts them and a few other orphans and they all make pizzas from scratch because Shawne hates turkey and two of the people there are granolas or whatever, everyone gets their own and it’s honestly one of the nicer dinner experiences Louis has had in California. Something about all of them having nowhere else to go but not wanting to be alone gives it all a sense of camaraderie; it’s easy to talk about Charleston with his family and listen to Zayn talk about New York, almost everyone from somewhere else far. Some kid Louis’ never seen before is the exception, an actress invited because her family took off for their beach home wherever and she’s working on set all weekend. Can’t be even 20. It’s hard not to imagine her in front of a camera, keeps catching glimpses of the way she holds a slice of pizza or later when they’re playing charades the way she moves very deliberately. Reminds him of Niall, vaguely, this way he had (has) of intending to move before he moves. Or talks. Whatever. The game starts off scored but they all give up after a few rounds when it’s clear everyone is pretty evenly either terrible or way too competitive and laughing too hard to keep track of points and teams.

They go around in between rounds while Shawne gets dessert ready and refills their wine and Louis gets picked to go first, _name one thing you’re thankful for_ and ‘good weed, white wine’ seems like the kind of reference that will go right over most of their heads but he says it anyway just for Zayn, let them think they know. Or better, let them know they don’t. Next to him this girl Haley says something about her friends and family and California sunshine and Louis tunes her out, thinks about Charleston where he knows it’s raining and his mom is probably getting the girls into bed by now, Harry at his house in Port Royal with Gemma and his mom, his friends in New York, S somewhere in London still, Niall in Germany where Thanksgiving doesn’t exist. And he’s thankful for that, that somewhere far away from here someone can exist without any physical reminders of what’s missing. Ha ha ha. Zayn says he’s glad they’ve found people here to have a holiday with and everyone smiles and nods and Louis isn’t over it but he kind of can’t disagree. He’s lucky. Needs to remind himself of that more often. When they toast their refilled glasses he makes sure he clinks everyone’s with a genuine smile. Lucky, if not home.

 

 

_PART THREE: OCEAN BULLSHIT NO. 1_

 

Zayn goes with him but the coast here is rough, makes him nervous, so it’s Louis that ends up knee-deep in the water, Zayn watching nervously from the shore. He’d slept for most of the drive this time, which Louis was fine with; they’d left early in hopes of having enough daylight through the fog that the earlier winter sunset wouldn’t make the trip half a waste and Zayn had been grumpy, sort of, in his quiet way. He’d woken up a half hour from Santa Maria and has been on high alert since, tense when Louis looks back at him as he steps into the waves. It’s really fucking cold.

Louis has done his research, knows that swimming along this part of the coast is dangerous and unpredictable. Not to mention fucking freezing. But Jan had said _do something_ and Louis has always either gone for the opposite or leapt past whatever he’s asked him to do, so here he is in a wetsuit in the Pacific, eyes keen for rip currents and holding their camera over his head. He’d waterproofed it last night but with the waves chilling his thighs now, reaching for his stomach, he’s holding himself high trying to keep as much of his skin above water as he can. It’s kind of pointless because he’s still walking outward but whatever. Keeps telling himself as soon as he gets chest-deep he’ll dunk under and ultimately holds true to that, turns the camera on and hits the shutter and then breathes a few more good breaths, thumbs-up to Zayn and goes.

It’s in the car again that Louis finally realizes– Zayn has been wearing a new cologne for weeks now, something familiar in a completely vague way, like Louis has only smelled it a few times or something, but it’s _Liam’s_ , that’s it. He turns to say something but then can’t, looks back out the window, pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders. The camera still has half a battery so he’s been shooting the shore through the fog and it feels like a lot of metaphor for something he's not sure how to name. A glimpse at something reshaping itself no matter who is watching. A sliver of an ocean so big it is impossible to see the all at once of it. Silence that settles down, that takes its time. Doesn't know if Zayn is pining or just likes the smell or what and why now, has Louis been missing other signs; when did Zayn start hiding shit from him, does it even count as hiding, calm down.

He decides to approach it the same as always and glances over at Zayn for no reason first, maybe some kind of subconscious warning to him tho bc Zayn looks back and it's like he knows what's coming. “Have you talked to Liam lately?” He stalls a moment following the curve of the road in front of them and then answers slowly, “Uh, yeah, earlier.” No one can pull off nonchalant the way Zayn can and he almost gets away with it but Louis is formidable on his worst days... and then he watches his hand leave the wheel and shift his hair away from his face and that's all he needs. “You bastard, how the fuck didn't I notice? Fuck.” Zayn at least has the heart to smirk at him but his cheeks are just slightly flushed, laughing a bit. “Shut up, man. You don't know shit.”  
Louis just looks at him, “I know you're a fucking sucker for those biceps,” and Zayn finally swings his arm out, easy for Louis to block even despite his laughing.

It’s once they’re almost home that he can think about it in a way that has some distance, is silence a metaphor, could it be. A gesture meaning _you have to know_. Not for him, but maybe for Zayn. Thinks about the ocean out past the hills now, at a distance, all the things beneath its surface that are there too, some without names and some with and just because he can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there. The way the sun falls on its surface as it sets like a path, always toward something past the horizon, whatever. It’s all there and it doesn’t matter. It can’t. Louis has nothing to do with it.

 

-

 

They’re in one of the living spaces of the studio, a couch and a recliner that Louis has ended up lying sideways in, legs dangling over the armrest. Zayn is sprawled out on the couch, laptop on his legs but mostly taking notes on a legal pad he’s got resting on his stomach. Notes being another way of saying doodling absentmindedly while Louis rambles about what constitutes happiness, what’s the difference between happiness and joy, what a visual representation looks like without people in it and occasionally saying more than a hum. Louis cranes his head around over the armrest after a pause and Zayn lifts his eyes from the page looking open and kind of tired so he goes with it. “Well what’s the happiest you’ve ever been?”  
He doesn’t answer immediately, looks back at his page and draws a few more lines and Louis isn’t sure he’s going to answer at all but he doesn’t really mind, it was worth a shot regardless. Knowing Zayn it’d be good is all. He relaxes his neck and looks back at the ceiling and it’s all in Z’s tone, “You're gonna hate me,” half a smile. “No I won't. Swear I won’t say anything. I’ll stay like this so you can’t even see my face.”  
Zayn laughs and tells him to shut up in the same breath, “First thing I thought of was that karaoke night in Charleston.” Louis keeps his promise but curls into the back of the chair, groans completely exaggerated but not actually at all, what the fuck. “No like, hear me out. Like, I’m sure there have been moments or times I was happier technically, at home or in the summer somewhere or whatever, but there was something to that night like, some kind of potential…” “You’re making it worse,” but he continues, speaking as slowly as Harry does all the time, “Like I was happy in this way that meant I knew I could still be happier, does that make sense? Like I will be.” Louis throws his arm over his face but he knows what he means and it’s heavy kind of, “That night was so _good_ even though it was simple and familiar and I knew all of you in whatever way… except Liam, and Niall, I guess, but just that that kind of unexpected moment or whatever could happen in that context like, it was magic.”  
He sits there a long moment, thinks about this project he’s getting paid to write for some company he’s never heard of and happiness and who these people are, what he’s doing here. Suppose he’s in the middle of them, somehow, suppose that this is bigger than just the five of them spread far and away. Suppose happiness is a home that waits for you to catch up to it again. Suppose goodness has nothing to do with what plans you made for it. Suppose sometimes magic is close to nothing at all.

 

 

_PART FOUR: DUM SPIRO SPERO_

 

Charleston feels like a black hole, out of the blue, not just empty but completely negative, sucking the life out of him. Harry’s with his family in Port Royal, the house he and Niall shared the past two years downtown rented to some older friend of Niall’s parents and Niall is in Ireland, still hours and hours out of reach. From Mount Pleasant it’s dangerously easy to not leave his house his first few days, terrified of all the things that remind him of last year, Niall’s absence an actual tangible feeling in the city. It’s as if the flat marshland that makes up the whole coast of South Carolina absorbed that time and is breathing it back out to him, just the car ride from the airport enough to make him disappear. Christmas and his birthday have always been things he’s done with his family anyway, and they’re all clingy in a way he can let himself sink into. He’d wanted to get here and escape. It’s impossible.

Louis has done a fucking incredible job at not telling Niall how much he misses him and he supposes he has the film and Nick and an unusually outgoing Zayn to thank for that, but it seems miraculous sometimes that when they do talk it’s current events only. Feels like he’s got a videotape going all the time beneath everything, _this time last year_ celebrating the holidays with Niall puking in the bathroom of Upper Deck, pizza from the dinner break they’d taken at Gilroy’s a couple hours in. Every day a tick mark of _when we were here together_ and it takes his mom asking if she can do anything for him to make him call Harry, see when he’s free. He drives over that same afternoon.

 

-

 

“So how are you, then?”  
It’s being here like this, at a Chick-Fil-A two days after Christmas in Charleston in the rain and cold with his oldest friend, oddly missing Zayn sharp in his chest and Niall even sharper, picking at the two giant waffle fries left from his meal that makes him go beyond just shrugging, actually try at an answer. “Been better, I guess.” Harry’s looking at him like he knows, patient and kind, still chewing the last few bites of his sandwich. Louis sighs. Doesn’t know where to begin.  
“I didn’t think it’d be so hard to come back, you know? Like… last year it was hard but only because of what I was leaving behind. S and New York and all that,” and he can’t quite keep eye contact with him but it’s enough to be able to, every so often. Harry’s so good at listening. The best friend he’s got. “But this is hard. LA is hard. This fucking film is hard. I don’t know what I’m doing, or why I thought it was what I needed to do to just up and leave.” _Have you seen how happy Niall looks. Have you heard from him. Did he say anything about me._ “I hate feeling so far away all the time.”  
Harry breathes in like he’s about to say something but hesitates, waits until Louis looks up asking for it, “But like, what are you far away from? Your family is here, and Charleston’ll always be home, but…” he shrugs, trying to be kind, Louis can tell. “There’s nothing for you here anymore.” Louis looks away, stares out the window at the parking lot, a car driving through a puddle. Christ. “Or maybe just not right now, but. I dunno.”

When they leave the cashier tells them to have a good day and Harry turns back with a smile, can hear it in his voice as he says you too. It’s all Louis can do not to shove him through the door he loves him so much, and as they get into his truck he hits the power button on the stereo, the middle of track twelve immediately blasting out of the speakers. _Shut me up/ and I’ll get along with you_ which Louis knows well from experience happened to be track twelve on that fucking mix CD from their trip. Harry glances at him as he backs out of the parking space and Louis just sits there and lets himself feel stupid and happy with the memory, doesn’t give away a goddamn thing. Looks out the window as they drive back to his house and waits for track thirteen to start and it’s that stupid song Niall had insisted was the best on the whole thing, _That harmony in the chorus! No one does it like em!_ shaking his head for what must have been the millionth time about the goddamn Eagles, some song that was a hit thirty years before he was even born. He’s dying to talk to him. Has been for days.

Niall’s posted a photo of his suitcase when he checks his phone later, open on a bed in what must be his room at whatever aunt or cousin he’s staying with and Louis can just make out the green folds of a sweatshirt he’s been missing since August buried under a few t-shirts. He’d taken that hoodie with them camping, pulled the string out of the hood last winter. Hasn’t seen it since, thought maybe he’d left it at their campsite somehow. Niall took it with him to Tokyo. Everywhere.  
The caption says _missing home_.

 

-

 

He and Harry in his bed later after watching four episodes of _The Walking Dead_ until Harry started falling asleep on his shoulder and Louis has missed him, is glad to be curled into a space too small for them at this point but making it work the way they always have. Harry keeps lazily blowing at his bangs flopping into his eyes instead of pulling his hands from beneath the blankets and Louis rolls his eyes, doesn’t have the energy to fix them for him either. He’s still got a headband on, at least.  
“You think we’ll do this forever?”  
Louis already has his eyes closed, the dark of the room like a physical cushion on his eyelids, and he doesn’t bother opening them to respond. “What, come home for Christmas?”  
Harry shifts his arm beneath his pillow, puts a moment between them. They’re both on their sides to accommodate but Louis is definitely taking up more space with his legs curled. It stopped being worth complaining about at least three years ago.  
“ _No_ , well, yeah, but I mean like, you and me. Are we always going to have each other?”  
Louis looks at him a moment, the teasing intention he had deflating out of him, thinks _what the fuck._ Gets just a glance toward high school for some reason, shoving at each other in the darkroom, laughing til they both were crying. He pulls him closer, rests the top of his head against his chest and Harry kind of laughs once, like he knows he's being an idiot, wraps his arms around him. “God yeah, go to sleep.”

Harry goes back to Port Royal for his last full day so they have their goodbye the next morning, keeping with tradition and leaving it at ‘see you soon.’ He honks the horn as he drives away and Louis waves, heads back inside. _Always going to have each other_ , Christ.

 

-

 

Liam looks older, has a bit of a beard going with the winter, his apron tied around his waist in that same effortless way he always has, like it belongs exactly where it is. He’s got a tray of food in his hands already and Louis has never been more pleased to see a barbecue sandwich in his entire life. Liam grins and pulls him into a tight hug, pats him on the back a few times with a rambling, “It’s so good to see you, how’ve you been, Merry Christmas,”that Louis can only really respond to with, “You too, Li, Merry Christmas.” They’ve kept in touch every once in a while, Liam calling to check in and it’s a kind of therapy for both of them, sometimes, Louis thinks. Like Liam enjoys hearing about an outside world he wouldn’t have access to otherwise, even if he doesn’t want it, and Louis loves to hear about home from someone that doesn’t sugarcoat it the way he does, gives him enough space to fill in the blanks with his own shit.He’s been promoted to lead cook at JB’s and he’s still proud of it, Louis can tell, gives him the satisfaction of swearing he’s never had a better meal in all of Charleston outside his granddad’s, teases him about opening his own place someday and grins all the wider when Liam can’t quite tell him to shut up. It’s easy; they have the entire patio to themselves and one of those outdoor heater things directed straight at them through the chill is enough to keep them talking well past the last of their drinks, catching up on shit Louis isn’t sure he’d known before now. It feels good to be home, to have a foundation that he couldn’t shake if he tried. Liam sees straight through him. Everyone here does.

“I don’t know if you, like, how much y’all keep in touch…?” trailing off like he’s in some kind of forbidden territory. Leave it to Liam to ease him into it, even if he already knows. Louis shrugs.  
“Every now and then, but not really, I don’t know,” and Liam looks at him like he’s thinking over what he wants to say, doesn’t know how to put it.  
“I don’t know how to tread lightly with this, like, don’t you think that’s weird? Doesn’t that feel weird?” Louis doesn’t know what he’s getting at, knows his intentions are nothing but honest but it feels like a set up for the kind of conversation he’s steered everyone else clear of. Didn’t think to bother with him. He shrugs again, caught off-guard enough to not know what to say. Weird doesn’t come close to the right name for it. It’s gotten chilly on the patio and he’s sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest, Liam sprawled out opposite, used to 50 degrees in his jacket. Louis knows the rules of body language, what this looks like. Shakes his arms out as he sits up.  
“What, d’you think we should have tried long distance?” Liam immediately shakes his head.  
“No, not necessarily. I just think you’re being stupid,” and he laughs in the same way as always, doesn’t give a shit about easing into it now. Louis smiles back, can’t help it. Goddamn it.  
“Like, you don’t have to be serious but you can still be _something_. I can’t believe you don’t talk to him. He must think about you all the time.”  
The wind blows a stray napkin off the table and Louis watches it flutter and fall, the idea of Niall keeping quiet too too much, tamps it down to Niall five hours ahead from here. Mountains in the distance. When he meets Liam’s eyes again he makes a face, rolls his eyes, sticks his tongue out a little. “You know I’m right. You _know_.” Throws a french fry at him for good measure.Knowing he’s right doesn’t help at all.

 

-

 

He’s still in his car when he makes the decision, pulls into the driveway and then the garage, sits there a moment then imagines clicking through, hitting the call button and getting him to pick up.  
Niall’s been in Ireland for three weeks already, spending the holiday with family and becoming a regular at at least three different pubs in whatever town he’s in, so Louis’ midnight is early enough that he should probably still be asleep but he could answer, his voice thick with sleep so maybe he did wake him but it doesn’t really matter–  
“Hello?” Louis smiles. “Hey Niall, good morning.”  
It takes a moment for him to respond, Louis’ smile growing. “Hi, what’s up,” and can so easily picture his face, squinting his eyes against the morning sun in his bed and shoving his face back into his pillow. Louis gets to be the one that says “Sorry did I wake you” because this is his turn, and Niall grumbles a moment,“Yeah you asshole, it’s Sunday morning.”  
They get around to it eventually, Niall asking a determined, “What is it, tell me,” and Louis is still hesitant but thinking of the Pacific, of the Atlantic they’re sharing right now.  
“I’m going back to California and you’re still not going to be there. And I know we said we’d put this off, we’d let our lives go on, let life happen and no regrets, just take what comes. I want you to still have that, and I want you to choose that if that’s what you want. But I have to tell you that my life has yet to put you out of it. It’s happening and going on and whatever anyway and you’re still in it. You’re still a part of me.”  
He’s shaking in his seat when he finishes, trembling from his chest outward and Niall breathes out, right into the microphone. _I have told you where I am coming from so put it together._  
“We can't, Lou.”   
Thinks maybe he could handle it if he’d left it at that, but he doesn’t. Niall adds on a quiet, “You know that,” and Louis has to look away, throat tight and trying not to cry. They don’t speak for a long moment and he tries and fails and fails and fails to come up with anything to say. _should mean laughter, not poison_ … “I love you, so so much. It hasn’t stopped for me either, you know? But we can’t.” He sounds scared, nervous at the least, and Louis hates himself for doing this. Lifts his hands from his lap and opens the car door.

 

-

 

He spends his last full day mostly with his sisters, drives everyone over to Isle of Palms because his mom likes its quiet in the winter and the girls love taking Bruce to the water and they spend the afternoon flying kites and tossing a frisbee. It seems like the right time, finally, to admit that this is it. This is what he has now.

So this is the one demanding he stops. A fist that can swear. _When I say when, just do it_. He’s crouched down with Daisy watching the waves come in, Bruce running around just out of frame, and there isn’t much to say, doesn’t want a metaphor for it. Thinks if he could make a film about it, this moment of _right now_ that feels like it has spanned a year and however many months, it could be a single shot, just the two of them, the boat in the harbor.

For as far away as Niall is it still feels so much bigger than that, like he’s still present in Louis’ life whatever coast he’s on. And Louis isn’t new to love, has been with people in all kinds of ways. Likes to think he knows about loyalty and determination. But what. _what are you doing/ come on, Lou, pull it together._ He had the nerve, once, in Santa Monica, and again in Paris, in New York. Could have gotten to what tomorrow could have been way for them back then, maybe. But maybe he needed this. Maybe time was good for something besides anticipation. Learning to want. Whatever version of Niall that Louis can imagine is still going to be out of his reach for at least another eight months and Louis still doesn’t have it in him to risk it. Can’t convince himself what he’s going off of isn’t a memory that he very well might have grown out of, afraid that the kind of happiness he wants is going backwards. Can’t deny that he’s not the same person that left Charleston almost a year ago and maybe that’s enough of a reason to let the song finish. The waves the sound of violins, his heartbeat a timpani that builds into a tension before it fades, soft into the distance like a piano. _And yet._

 

-

 

That night he runs to Publix just to get two bags of peanuts for Zayn and some shit for the day of traveling he has ahead of him, walks out with a paper bag in his arms and almost straight into Bobby Horan coming in. It’s awkward for a moment as he shifts the bag over to shake his hand, Bobby saying a loud, “Louis! How are ya?” in the friendly voice he's always reserved for all of Niall’s friends, he imagines, looking the picture of Horan Family. Louis shakes his hand and smiles, “Good, good, just pickin’ up supplies for the journey back west tomorrow,” and Bobby grins, hasn’t really stopped but it seems like it can just keep growing somehow, “California, is it? You to blame for Niall’s adventurism then?” and there’s no way he knows how devastating that question is but it _is_ , Louis’ heart genuinely sinks into his chest. He smiles anyway, “Maybe, how’s he doing? Ireland alright?” Bobby nods, "Few more days, yeah. If you’re anything like he is with Harry you probably speak to him ten times as often as we do, though.” And he actually winks at him. Nothing left to say. You can give up but it won’t be that easy. _of all my crimes did I say you were my favorite._

Nick calls him later asking if he’s seen his potholder, tacks on something, “It seemed easier to call than to look for it,” like a question but they both kind of laugh and Louis ducks out of the living room and into the kitchen anyway. “Use a towel, I don’t know. Last time I saw it it was hanging where it’s supposed to be,” and hears Nick muffled like he’s put the phone between his cheek and shoulder, trying to multitask with whatever he’s making. “What are you cooking?” “Muffins. Lemon poppyseed.” Louis scoffs, half-laughing and Nick is exactly as defensive as he should be, “I can cook muffins! I’ve done a great job.” It’s so easy to tease him. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” “Well it’s Lisa's birthday tomorrow, I had to do something.” “Poisoning _is_ a good gift, I’ve always thought.”Nick is wry, now, accent coming through strong, “Thanks for that, vote of confidence, all,” and Louis laughs, lets the moment pass. “So your flight gets in at noon, yeah?” Louis nods, opens the sliding door to the deck and walks to the pool, wishes it was summer, wants to swim. “Yeah,” and Nick continues, “And Zayn is picking you up?” “And Zayn is picking me up.” The neighborhood is so quiet, so much more open than anything he’s found in Los Angeles, and he can feel the homesickness already starting to build up again. He’s distracted and Nick is going to pick up on it, already has probably, “What are you doing tomorrow night?” Trails off something about dinner with some people, _you should come_ that Louis agrees to, both of them quiet another long moment.

“Did you have a good visit?” Yeah, he did, but a part of him is already wishing he hadn’t come, that if it weren’t for his family and the two friends he’s got here nothing could convince him it was worth it. He hums in a way that means of course, wonders if his kitchen smells like lemon, if he's already cleaning whatever tiny mess he made cooking. “You sound tired.” He doesn’t think about it before answering, “It’s late here.” Cringes in the pause before Nick speaks again. “Ah, yeah, I’ll let you go then? See you tomorrow.” “Sorry-- I didn’t mean to–” but Nick is smiling when he interrupts him. Of course he is. “It’s fine, love, get some sleep.”

 _I have no home but here and I’m all worn out from fighting and helping fight/_  
You’ve won/ You’ve won/  
Now let go of me

 

-

 

His flight has a layover in Chicago and he sends Harry a photo from the landing once he gets to his next gate, forty minutes to kill before boarding starts. Harry sends back a quick _Should have planned to stay the night here_ , replies that maybe he’ll come out for his birthday or something and then he’s boarding, texts Zayn he’ll see him soon and that’s it. West again.

 

 

_PART FIVE: PATIENCE_

 

Louis sees the thumbnail quick while it’s still there above a bunch of whatever notifications and can’t help the _Jesus Christ_ that falls out of his mouth, Zayn looking at him _what’s wrong_ and he can feel his face burning, kind of laughs and shakes his head absolutely nothing _oh my god_. He’s missed this, he realizes, nothing like a Niall Horan dick pic in the middle of the afternoon. Shit.

After calculating he figures out it must be close to midnight there, texts back _happy new year to you too_ but it’s just past four here, they haven't left the office all day and now Louis is completely done, ready to go. When his phone rings just a moment later he’s still got it in his hand, Niall's face smiling at him from the silent contact photo next to his name. He swipes and answers, leaves the room with hardly a glance at Zayn. _Play it cool, Tommo_.

Niall is super drunk and at a party so loud Louis can hardly understand him, finally manages to figure out that there’s fifteen minutes before midnight and Niall wishes he were there to fuck him and Louis is literally losing his mind, ends up in the parking lot because god forbid anyone even try to make sense of his hushed cursing and _You can’t just say shit like that_ ’s. Fifteen minutes is too soon for a midnight phone call and Louis hasn’t heard his voice in months, has to keep repeating _don’t don’t don’t_ inside his head. _You can’t._ He loses Niall’s attention for a few minutes and knows this is killing his international plan, whatever it’s called, but can’t bring himself to hang up, knows he’ll come back eventually. And he does, exhales hard into his speaker sounding like he’s run into a wall or something and then says a quick, “Sorry, that took forever didn’t it.” The tone of his voice sounds strange without feeling like his own sounds just as drunk, matching him in whatever game they’re on tonight. “I just--oof” “Are you alright?” “I just ran into the door, what’s it called, side… frame. Again. Twice.” Interrupts trying to distract from the way he’s sure he must be rubbing at his shoulder, “Where’re you even at?” and when Niall responds, “Charleston,” his whole chest shrinks up, his tone totally different than before, taking his time to get it out right. “Charleston and I’m walking down Stoll’s Alley,” Stops not like he’s finished but like he doesn’t how to continue. Louis says the only thing he can.   
“Me too.”

 

-

 

He and Zayn and a bunch of their friends head up to someone’s house in the hills for a party, literally bullshit but at the back of his mind is this new thought like _while you’re still here_ and everyone there will be fun, so they go. Louis gets drunk and dances and talks a lot, meets a few people he’s never seen before and refills Zayn’s drink every time he sees him. Has a conversation with some girl he can’t seem to look away from and in the middle of it she says she’s from the east coast and _we’re all late to the party, aren’t we?_ and Louis trusts her so much from that that when he grins it’s real and when he says, “That doesn’t mean we can’t show ‘em how it’s done,” he watches her smile absolutely bloom and when she kisses him at midnight he kisses her back. He doesn’t see her again but it doesn’t matter past that point.

In the morning he wakes up in Zayn’s bed, has half a memory about it being closest to the front door and hopes he’s not still drunk, remembers _show ‘em how it’s done_ and then a moment later _Stoll’s Alley_ and he wants Niall. Closes his eyes and thinks that’s quite a thought to have on the first day of the year and he’s, yeah, probably still drunk. Wants Niall. Goes back to sleep.

 

-

 

They’d talked about it a few weeks after that first time they’d kissed, Louis forcing himself to keep eye contact as he said _It’s really not you, I just_ , and Nick had smiled then, small like he already knew the line because don’t we all. I don’t know how to say this. “You’re in love with him; you don’t have to explain to me, relax.” Pauses for another quick smile, “I'm not trying to win your heart here,” and it’s one of those moments where staring at someone’s face seems like the only way to figure out if they’re lying to you. Knowing he and Nick are similar enough means he can put himself in his place and imagine that lie coming from his mouth instead, and he does, he can, but also that he’d do the same for him, probably, with him. A heartbroken Nick seems like the worst picture he’s ever had to imagine. And that image, that mirror of an immediate urge to take care of him softens the potential for anger if he is lying. That he trusts him is ultimately what made him say _okay_ and turn back to the TV, stop crumpling the label of his beer.

What Nick knows of Niall is limited to what Louis has said of him, can’t really remember all of it but knows he’s had to catch himself and bring it back, tone it down a few separate nights. Something about _I couldn't have made Rapture without him and now I don’t have him so how am I supposed to-_ that he’d cut himself off of at the way Nick had kind of looked away for a moment before teasing him _all you writers so dramatic_ etc and Louis had smirked into his drink, self-deprecating because what else could he do. It would be embarrassing if Nick clearly was never surprised by it, knew when to drag him away from their table and whatever he’s been drinking.

And it’s Nick that tells him, finally, sharing a cigarette behind a bar the first time they’ve seen each other since the New Year. “It’s good you still want him, you know. It could be good.” Pauses while he exhales. “It’s allowed to be good.” Out of nowhere but Louis isn’t shocked by it, isn't blindsided. He knows.

 

-

 

They start to keep in touch, sort of, at least better than the last few months. Louis forces himself, allows himself, whatever, he reaches out. Hangs the calendar Niall left him in August with his itinerary on the wall by his closet, checks every morning to see if it’s a travel day or he’s still exploring Prague or wherever, updates it when they talk and Niall says he met someone and they're going to her friends’ home in the Alps for the weekend instead of him going to Berlin. He’s more than happy to tell him about the mountains and trying to learn to ski in the few hours he had before they left for the actual slopes the next time they talk and Louis has to bite his cheek from smiling too big, can hardly respond he wants to laugh so much. All he can think to ask is if Marie is nice and Niall doesn’t stop laughing at him for a good ten minutes, every time he finally gets it under control and Louis starts to say something losing it again.

When Niall asks about the film it sounds like he’s been building up to it, nervous to actually talk about Louis’ work with him and Louis feels a swoop of regret and anger at who he was last year to leave him out of it all and this year to shut himself away, ends up rambling about both projects they’re working on until he's kind of breathless, talking so much without pausing. Niall’s grinning when he says a quick “Sounds really good, can’t wait to see ‘em,” and Louis sighs, both of them just looking at each other for a minute through their computer screens.

It’s the first time they’ve done video in a setting that isn’t full of interruptions on either side; twice before Louis has facetimed him from the office after editing all day and Zayn had been there, throwing skittles at him or looking exhausted enough that Louis didn’t want to keep him up late. It was fine, Niall is typically on a shitty connection anyway so video tends to be lighthearted, one or both of them exaggerating talking or facial expressions or whatever because it’s not like they’re getting much through clearly anyway. They text a lot besides, practically every time Louis wakes up there’s half a day’s worth of _this lady just tried to charge me double for my coffee, do I still look like a dumb american ??_ And now he’s right in front of him and it’s a relief, something solid even if he can’t reach through the screen and grab him like he wants to. Even if it’s nerve wracking in some distant kind of way _it kinda gets me down_ , doesn’t really know where they stand but it’s taking what he can get. Or whatever Niall will give.

 

 

_PART SIX: TIME GUIDES MOST THINGS HOME_

 

Harry’s apartment is already full to bursting by the time Louis gets there, front door left unlocked with a note taped on that says _TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES PLEASE_ that Louis rolls his eyes and grins at, kicks his off and takes the stairs to the third floor. He’s huffing by the time he makes it up and through the door but when he knocks he’s just as breathless, someone opens it and Harry makes a scene to greet him, catches him before he gets two feet inside the door yelling, “You made it! Louis!” loudly enough that the whole room goes quiet before everyone claps and hoots and yells and laughs. Louis would shove him away if it hadn’t been two months since he last saw him, but as it stands he just sways with Harry and inhales the alcohol and cologne in his clothes, smiles big.

He finds himself alone in the kitchen a few minutes later after a few cursory introductions, Harry holding his arm around him the whole time, rifling through Harry’s fridge looking for something quick to eat but it’s literally all vegetables and eggs and leftover bread pudding. Has to settle on a yogurt and isn’t that appetizing, yogurt with beer. After a few tries he finds the silverware drawer to discover Harry has the same set he and Niall had shared in their house and it makes him pause, laughs a bit even though it’s just him in the room. Feels like a kind of homecoming he’s never felt before, moving on but carrying the small shit along with you. Whatever. Write a poem about it. The rest of the kitchen is beautiful, small compared to the houses they’ve grown up in but Harry’s made it work, pots and pans hanging over the counter. He’d complained once about the lack of cabinets and having to lug shelves from the Home Depot a mile away onto the bus but it looks good. Most of the yogurt is gone by the time he turns back around and there, just standing there waiting, is Niall. Hadn’t even known he’d be here, scares the shit out of him. But he can't help himself and laughs when he says a hushed, “Holy fuck!” into the room, watches as Niall breathes in quick like he’s surprised too, smiles about to say something and Louis thinks if he would only exhale he could live off that for the next fifteen years and be happy.

He vaguely realizes this is the first time they’ve seen each other in six months and then it’s all appearance, taking him in quick as he can. Niall looks good, so good, happy and with a relaxed kind of easiness that Louis isn’t used to seeing in anyone anymore, especially in California. Maybe he’s the same as he was in Charleston back then and Louis has just managed to blur the memory into something cloudier but maybe not. Maybe he’s grown into himself somehow, embraced that southern grace their parents all seem to exude. And then it’s the two of them grinning at the same speed and a tight hug that Louis is left wondering at, _we manage to stay warm_ and Niall pulls away still smiling,  
“Glad you’re here after all, I don’t know any of these people.” Louis scoffs, can’t help grinning despite himself, “That’s never stopped you before,” and Niall smiles caught but sure, like _all the same._ Feels caught too, completely transparent, can’t help it, “What are you doing here?” Niall shrugs all nonchalant but his eyes are mischievous, casual, “Flights are cheap in February so I figured…” “You asshole.”   
Niall’s laugh is a burst of achievement out of his chest and Louis has to pick up the empty yogurt container from the counter simply for something to do with his hands, to resist just lifting him off the floor.  
Can’t seem to stop looking at him. His hair’s gotten long around his ears, which Louis already knew but it’s still so _different_ and he’s filled in more, or like, if not in body because he’s still a skinny shit, the space around him seems bigger, somehow. Something to him that Louis had missed without naming it, or even recognizing it as a thing he _could_ miss. Maybe just him, being around him. I don’t know.  
“Do you wanna smoke?” His first thought is something about Amsterdam, last place he knows he was, maybe he flew out from there, nods yeah sure and Niall leads the way to the door across the room, the fire escape he guesses. When he opens the door there’s a quick gust of freezing cold air that they both grimace into and Niall turns and scrunches his nose at him, says he’ll be right back. Louis watches him head back toward the living room, breathes out and tells himself it’s fine. Throws the yogurt into Harry’s recycling bin and stares out the window, nothing in view except a streetlight over the alley. Feels like the first breath he’s taken in hours.

Niall comes back carrying a big down comforter, Harry yelling from the other room something about being careful but they both ignore it, “Didn’t wanna bother with that pile of coats,” and Louis nods, tries out a smile. Something’s shifted since they’ve separated, feels hesitant like he hadn’t been able to within the moment of surprise, nervous about sharing a blanket in the cold with this person he’s still in love with. Niall isn't, though, bunches it in one arm when he opens the door again.

Even with the blanket and sitting so close together there’s no way they can stay out in the cold much past however long the weed lasts them. But finally it’s really just the two of them. It's cold in a way Louis hasn't felt in years but it feels like a narrowing focus, just them, just this. The back stairs have hardly enough space for two bodies to fit across but they manage, sit on the top step and Niall holds his side of the blanket up to block the wind, holds the lighter to the end of the joint and slips it into his mouth for a long moment. Louis stares at his bottom lip and can feel every vein in his body _capable of carrying light_ and it feels like enough, a moment he could stretch even past enough. That they can be this close and it doesn’t need to have the tension of leading up to anything, that it can be the two of them just sharing a joint and he can still feel the stars through the clouds over Chicago. Their calm something like a reassurance.

 

-

 

Harry’s provided them a spectacularly shitty futon to sleep on and Louis can already tell he’s going to wake up feeling like he slept flat on the floor anyway but it’s hard to care when he’s this tired. It’s late in the central time zone, close to four in the morning here, which doesn’t excuse his complete exhaustion considering he’s up past two back in LA all the time, but he’d also traveled two thousand miles so that counts, right. He’s tired but hasn’t gotten into the thought process of slowing down yet; they’ve been lying here for a few minutes and Louis isn’t pushing, neither of them are, but it feels like they haven’t quite realigned yet, knows there’s shit left to be said that the instant cure smoking in the cold and then getting drunk together won’t work on. It was always going to be Niall that asked. It had to be. He deserved that.

 _Lou?_ only a whisper into the dark. Just as Louis hums in response the walls are covered with the blur of headlights shifting across them through the blinds.  
_What happened to us._  
Not as demanding as he could be. Not unforgiving, not angry either.  
Something about the dark being comfortable, comforting. Louis is used to this, eyes closed but not sleeping. He’s been rehearsing this scene for long enough that he knows he can improvise it. He knows it so well.   
_I was so terrified of losing you that I just like, I tried to make it impossible_  
Niall shifts onto his side, takes a moment. Can feel him watching him.   
_So you didn’t try at all_  
looking at each other now means he doesn’t have to say it, watches him and there’s this total determination in his eyes, like something of this is opening night for him too and he’s got all the lines down.  
_Really wish you would have, thought I was crazy for wanting you so much still_  
It hurts. knows he’s being defensive when he mumbles but he can’t help it  
_It felt like you were showing off how much you didn’t need me when you left_ and Niall is quick to respond though his tone is slow, hesitant  
_yeah_  
Niall sighs and Louis gets, for the first time, really, the feeling that he’s been camouflaging his anger beneath the surface. the reason he has his lines down is because he’s been waiting in the wings this whole time  
_But weren’t you kind of doing the same thing?_  
leaves off the _didn’t you do it first._ Maybe it proves something has changed because Louis won’t let himself deny it.   
_yeah_. _guess so_

It feels opposite of what should be happening when Niall leans into him closer, unexpected since Louis has been so focused on his heart in his throat, trying to piece together _What happened_ with _doing the same thing_ and wanting to say something about how stupid he’s been, what a mistake he’s made. But Niall is nosing along his throat, can tell his eyes are closed just by fact alone and when his face raises past Louis’ chin it’s not an answer or a resolution, it’s just his mouth and a sigh of relief, _what could possibly be like touch. Charleston_.

It’s not quite forgiveness. Louis is going to stay this time.

 

-

 

The next day is Harry’s actual birthday so they treat him to brunch that Niall mostly cooks, eggs scrambled with potatoes and Louis teases both of them about knowing what to do with vegetables, pretends Zayn hasn’t spent most of a month insisting he learn to dice a goddamn onion without crying. It’s easy, they all know how to do this and fall back into it like all that’s changed is the setting. Chicago is still covered in snow and it's hard not to feel settled, that kind of weekend comfort that feels like rest and home. Harry has a playlist called _Breakfast_ he edits for every season playing, the Decemberists or whatever and a box of Louis’ favorite tea still in the plastic wrapping that’s the best Christmas present he’s ever gotten in February. When Louis gives him his birthday gift of _Into the Blue_ on vinyl and a bunch of mostly intact packs of the granola they’d taken hiking in Los Padres Harry gets actual tears in his eyes, pulls him into a long hug in the middle of his kitchen. Niall is shaking his head at them when Louis catches his eye over Harry’s shoulder but he looks so happy that for a moment it’s too much, too bright to meet head on.

They spend the afternoon doing absolutely nothing; Louis didn’t bring an actual winter coat and with the weather in the tens all day and Harry’s hangover, no one wants to leave. The heating in his apartment is a radiator that keeps hissing on and off through their marathon of _Friends_ but it feels like the sort of waste Louis won’t ever know how to regret. With the way the three of them are curled around each other on the couch he knows wanting anything else couldn't be fair to test fate out with, doesn't fight for the middle spot between them. Harry orders pizza and doesn't let them choose because it's his birthday and if he wants artichoke hearts then they can deal with it. He and Niall end up splitting the large pepperoni that Harry ordered despite himself and they smoke the last of Niall’s stash he snuck onto the plane in the bottom of a pack of cigarettes, against every warning of his friends in Amsterdam. Of course he got away with it. Harry is asleep within an hour and it’s late anyway, or late enough for him, so Louis and Niall half-carry him between them to his bed and tuck him in. Harry smiles sleepily at them and says a sentimental, “Best friends” as goodnight.

 

-

 

He and Niall fix the sheet corners again before crawling in, Niall somehow with Louis’ pillow from last night, the striped gray case he remembers from Harry’s room. That, more than anything, is what he lingers on. He can do this. Has to, really, but he can. He’s capable. He wants to make it right. Or better at the least. Wants a different story. Wants.

Niall’s reading something on his phone next to him, the light against his face soft and welcoming like _try_. Can’t do it. Doesn’t know where to start. It’s always the middle of the scene when he knows the right words, not interrupting the radiator. Fuck. He shouldn’t be this scared. He should be. He totally should be.

“You gonna say something or not ?” and Louis simultaneously realizes he’s been staring and that Niall knows he’s staring and that yeah, he is going to say something. It comes out softer than he intends it to. It probably should be. “I'm- I wanna be better. I want us to.” Niall pauses, then clicks his phone off and sets it on the floor, turns over. Can tell he’s going through the motions almost, but Louis’ heart is pounding regardless, wants to take it back for just a moment because the way he’s looking at him is terrifying. What if it’s over, or too late. What if nothing he can say would. But in that same instant it washes out with a fierce need to prove himself, the same way he’d kissed him outside Upper Deck the first time. When Niall reaches out, the touch of his fingers on Louis’ cheekbone echoes down through his jaw into his pillow, his hand beneath his head. Like Newton’s cradle, back and forth every time he moves. He’s not looking at him when he speaks, but at his own hand moving.  
“You owe me an apology.” He pauses long, watches him now as angry as he is. “I deserve one.”  
Louis swallows, knows he does. turns his head just slightly into his palm and says it into the space there, the warmth of his breath staying close to his mouth.  
“I’m sorry I left like that, and I’m sorry I disappeared like I did and tried to pretend I wasn’t. It wasn’t fair to you. It was cruel.” He turns back to him, meets his eyes not totally brave but trying for it anyway. _You know he does_. “And I’m sorry you’re always the one that gets the terrible parts of me.” Niall frowns, starts to say something, sounds like he’s going to disagree somehow but Louis won't let him. “And I’m sorry for ever suggesting I didn’t want to be with you, because I do. Was a lie then and it would be now.”  
Niall takes a long moment to speak but Louis doesn’t mind. Feels like he could wait an hour, patient now that everything is out on the table. What else could be worse. He’s watching him soft, part of a frown still leftover on his face and when he shifts his hand past his ear and pulls his face close to his it’s the start of a repeat of last night, but he stops short of kissing him, rests his cheek against the side of Louis’ and closes his eyes. “Don’t ever do that again, alright,” and it isn't a question. Louis couldn’t refuse if he wanted to. He kisses him, doesn't wait to wait just does it, feels like California and home and something else, some kind of determination both of them are standing waist deep in, water pulling them farther and farther from shore.  
The sound Niall makes sounds dragged out of him, sweeps the ground out from under where Louis is lying and he lets himself move with it, pulls himself in and lets Niall follow, his body covering his, warm and bony and infinite. Catches himself brushing his hair away from his face all tender and it’s it’s really fucking stupid but he won’t stop, none of it, and Niall kisses him again, sighs as he pulls away slow, curls into the space between his neck and shoulder, tired.  
“What are we going to do?” and Louis laughs quiet into the air above them, same as a hundred times before. “Figure it out.”

 

-

 

Niall’s flight back to Italy isn’t until later in the evening but he shares a cab with Louis to the airport that afternoon anyway, hugs Harry tight and says an effortless, “Love you, see ya,” as they pull apart. Louis doesn't even try to be that casual, holds him and doesn't say a word. Harry doesn't linger; from the backseat Louis watches him walk back the same way they came and then out of sight as the car turns the corner. Niall is watching him when he turns back, his hand just as cold as Louis’ when he grabs it.

 

-

 

They hang out at a bar near Louis’ gate for as long as they can spare; Niall looks anxious but Louis isn't about to call him on it if it might just be nerves from leaving again or whatever. It’s bad enough as it is. He’s in the middle of a vague daydream just flying to Rome instead of the opposite direction when Niall clears his throat, says, “I’m taking a job in New York,” before Louis has even looked away from the TV. Louis gapes at him. “What? When?” and the look on his face gives him away before he answers so Louis is already gathering hope up in his chest as he says it. “April first.” It feels like a joke. Can’t be serious. Two months, not even. “You asshole, fuck! I thought you were doing the full year, all over!” Niall spins his barstool just a second and shrugs, eats a leftover fry from his plate. “The family I stayed with in Perth has offices all over and they offered me a position whenever I felt like settling again, so,” not meeting his eyes until that last bit and when he does Louis can’t help the smile that takes over his face, watches him shrug again. That small smile he reserves for making him happiest. “Kinda feel like it.”

“Have a good flight, okay?” in this careful, gentle way that’s just as _Niall_ as his goodbye to Harry had been andhe can’t let go of him, just smiles and wonders how he was ever going to leave thinking there were still six more months of whole days missing. “You too. I’ll text you when I land.” “Good, keep in touch this time.” Louis pulls away, narrows his eyes but smiles all the same. “Hey, be nice to me,” and Niall looks endeared for a split second before he rolls his eyes and hits his arm, “That’ll be the day. Go get ‘em.” Louis pauses a moment before he walks away and Niall groans, “I know, okay, I know. You too. _Go._ ” Can’t help it. “I’ll see you soon.” “Jesus Christ. Get out of here, you’re going to miss it.” Louis grins, says, “No I’m not,” right into his ear as he hugs him one more time and Niall allows him one more kiss then pulls away smiling and Louis goes. Looks back before stepping onto the jet bridge and Niall is still standing there, one hand tucked around the strap of his backpack and the other held up in a wave at him, smiling. It’s the best image in the entire fucking world.

 

 

_PART SEVEN: SHARED SUN (MONTAGE)_

 

_INT. - LOUIS’ ROOM - NIGHT_

Niall is laughing so loudly into his ear that Louis has to pull his phone an inch away from his head, grinning into the dark above his bed. “So- so Mara kicks me out of the bar and the next thing- I- the next thing I remember is being at the airport-” and he’s laughing too hard again, can’t believe he’s even alive right now. _Alive to Tell the Tale: the Niall Horan Fucking Story._ It’s been a month and he’s already gotten enough of them to worry about him all the goddamn time. “Wait, how’d you get there?” “I don’t know! There’s a train, I mean, I must have taken the train. But I don’t know.” “Oh my god.” “I know, fuck, so I’m at the airport and I get through security somehow and then I have to find my gate. And mind you I have like, twenty minutes ‘til boarding, I’m fucking running through this place. It’s six in the morning and all these people are hanging out, just chilling, and the gates are arranged in this weird like, semi-circle half-circle thing and I go all the way from one end to the other just chanting to myself _D-15, D-15_ because I’m terrified I’m gonna miss it and I fucking get to the other end and I did, I fucking missed it. So then I have to go all the way back and it’s like, four past where I started from.” He pauses for a breath and Louis can just see him, cheeks flushed and running around like a fucking idiot, probably dragging his backpack behind him, and drunk. God. Nearly pokes his own eye out trying to cover his face reacting, “ _Niall._ How are you–” and Niall is laughing again, “I know, I know. It was so bad. I can’t believe I made it. So by the time I get to my gate they’re already almost _done_ boarding and I’m like, sweating and panting with my eight million pound bag and I hand over my boarding pass _and_ I’m still super fucking drunk and definitely look like shit and the attendant is this older lady that gives me the worst once-over of my life then says, ‘Welcome aboard, sir, good luck,’” and Niall’s German accent is _so_ shitty through his laughter but it doesn’t matter. He’s delirious and jet-lagged and he called Louis as soon as he got home to Charleston, he’s only three hours ahead, only a five hour plane ride away. He’s home.

 

_EXT. - THE BACKYARD - AFTERNOON_

“Did he tell you about Berlin?” and Harry’s snort is answer enough, “It’s a goddamn miracle he made it back without a story like that for every continent, honestly.” Louis’ phone buzzes in his hand and he peeks at it, a message from Niall at the top of his screen. _my barcelona friends fucking love the eagles. should just stay here_ and Louis grins when he puts it back to his face. “Sounds like something the two of you would’ve done back home,” covering it as teasing.Harry hardly manages to hide his smile with a, “Heyyy,” and then pauses like he’s considering. “Okay, yeah, probably. CHS wouldna given us that problem though, all ten gates.” Louis laughs, thinks about Niall in the small of an apartment in Spain coaxing a bunch of strangers into smiling with him. Mara the bartender insisting he leave before he missed his flight. Niall drunk in every country on the planet.   
Harry’s on about his class again, a freshman English course called _Life as Art_ he’s been teaching this semester, something philosophical and conceptual, perfectly Harry. It’s the first time he’s heard him this excited in a really long time, sounds so good. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” “Something about Trevor, I don’t know. Have you bought your flights yet?” Harry sighs but he’s laughing. “No, going to on Friday once I get paid. Think I’m gonna fly to New York for a few days right after? See Niall, make sure he’s doing okay.” Louis doesn’t acknowledge the glow of envy in his gut but he hums, tries to convey _that sounds like a great idea, take me with you_ without any words. Harry’s quiet for a moment. Maybe it worked.

 

_INT. - STUDIO - NIGHT_

_see straight through me_  
Zayn’s left a line right after it in their draft. It’s too late for it really, hasn’t looked at this version of their notes in ages, hadn’t noticed it before now. _we all want to, though, isn’t that the point. that we can’t. magic of film is that we don’t get it all. or give it_

He adds on the next line then deletes it. It’s too late. Doesn’t need it.

 

_INT. - OLYMPIAN STUDIOS - EVENING_

He gets a text during the tail end of their final pick-up shoot for the Olympian project, a quick _made it, all in!!_ that he replies to with some kind of basketball metaphor that doesn’t really make sense probably. He attaches all the house and building-related emojis and a bunch of a box truck before he has to get back, smiling, hopes his roommate is alright and nothing got broken. Wonders what silverware he’s ended up with.

Back on set thinking about how this whole California non-spring is going to be in his memory as shit songs from the radio that Niall keeps texting him the lyrics to, that eventually he’ll call his roommate by name instead of vaguely referencing New York as “the city” and his apartment as “seems alright.” Can’t believe he’s there.

 

_INT. - LOUIS’ ROOM - NIGHT_

and when he shifts his leg up so his chin can rest on his knee there’s a tear in the denim, a thick string still threaded across his skin that’s so pale Louis can practically feel it in his palm, stares at it only a second before looking away, can’t bear it. Aches with it. _If he could only turn the corner, catch the light the right way._ Niall keeps on about the guitarist only a moment more, finishes with a soft smile and a yawn, his jaw pushing the rest of his head up and Louis catches it, yawns into his own hand. Seems like as good a time as any. “Should go to sleep, babe.”

 

_EXT. - BACKYARD - DAY_

 

Zayn’s brought a brand new legal pad to their spot on the patio, has it resting on his knees as he lights his second cigarette. It’s still blank and Louis is distracting himself staring at the wolf on Zayn’s shin thinking about knowing forever. What forever feels like. The last few swallows of his beer were flat and warm and the sun is starting to set; he’s been waiting to speak for a while and it’s not that it’s the right moment when he does because nothing changes. He just starts.

“I kinda…” and Zayn looks over at him, waits as patiently as he always has. Louis knows he won't tell him to spit it out but he hesitates nonetheless, “What about Liam?” watches Zayn's eyebrows shoot up, kinda smiles. “Like, I know this is different than _Rapture_ and I wasn’t really interested in being that blatant about it, but no ones come close to what he did, you know?” Zayn nods, leans back in his chair. It’s been on the tip of his tongue for almost a week now, sifting through their pile of candidates, and he has the argument to back it up if it comes to that but Zayn knows better than even he does probably. “He just makes himself vulnerable in a way I don't think we’ll be able to find again, you know? He connects so easy.” Zayn looks back up at him from his beer and narrows his eyes, thinking, so Louis keeps going, “And if we do have that tie to _Rapture_ in the acting then it makes it a lot simpler of a transition for the first act, and the whole thing kind of flows better as a whole-”So what, then, we go back to Charleston? Fly him out here?”   
Louis shrugs but can’t help a small smile and Zayn nods, picks up his pen. “Charleston, then.”

 

_INT. - LOUIS’ ROOM - NIGHT_

With the way his heart is pounding it sounds outside himself, Niall’s breath shaky kind of as it catches on an exhale, this quiet hum or sigh or whatever the word is, desperate in his ear and Louis’ heart just a quick rhythm against his forehead where he’s pressing facedown into his pillow. It’s so hard to tell how close he actually is through the receiver with the way he tries to keep quiet that it feels all the sudden when he’s groaning low, “'m close,” and Louis is speaking before he can filter it, “Remember that night after the play,” out of nowhere not even making sense, Niall groans again. “Was so cold,” all torn up with the effort or whatever, god, wishes he could see him. He closes his eyes again, tightens his hand just enough to approach that level of too much, trying to catch up, keep up, Niall quiet but low, _dangerous_ the first word he thinks at the “please, Lou,” Niall says a moment later and feels his eyes roll back and close, muscles tighten in his hips. “Please, come.”

They lie there quiet for a long time, turned on his side so he doesn’t have to hold his phone to his face. He still feels guilty when it gets to be this late here; only ten but that’s wee hours for Niall in New York with a job to go to in the morning early, especially by Louis’ standards. Even despite him constantly shushing him _I’d be awake anyway, better to be productive than playing xbox or whatever_ all snarky like he thinks he’s funny he asks every time, tells him they can talk later. Louis smiles when he answers the same version of half shrug and half shut the fuck up already. “I meant it, you know,” and Louis is back in his car in Charleston, December, the way Niall sounds. Nervous, hesitant like he’s kind of scared. Puts together that his quiet must have been him biting the skin off his lip, worrying at his thumb, any of his fidgeting. Louis hums, doesn’t know what he’s talking about. So much has changed. This isn’t then. Niall is actually here this time, actually talking. “You should come out here.”

Louis can’t speak for how surprised he is; they’ve not– and Niall has only been. And Zayn. Charleston. Niall keeps going, quiet but more confident now, feels like being in his room at home, those navy blue sheets. “I keep thinking, like, everywhere I go, I wish you were here. And not even just to skip this stupid phone sex or have to sit through your commentary on _Walking Dead_ because I don't fucking miss that. Just walking down the street. Taking the subway home.” He pauses and Louis is staring at his ceiling, still can’t seem to think anything besides _Fuck what the fuck_. “I wanna come home to you, you know?” “Jesus christ, Niall,” and he kind of laughs, can hear him turning over. Takes his time, easy with it now that he’s going. “Sorry, was that a lot? Sorry.” But he’s laughing and Louis is just _yeah it could be that, we could be that_ and he knows he should say something but the way he’s laughed into the phone has bought him a moment to just dwell in it, he thinks. That Niall can bring that hope out of him. Or into him. He breathes in, holds it. “I’ll think about it, how’s that.” As if he hasn’t been all along. “Why don’t you come out here instead? That fancy agency have an LA office?”   


 

 

_PART EIGHT:THERE’S A MOUNTAIN WAITING FOR ME_

 

“I’ve missed this, like, actually writing our own shit together.”   
The look Zayn gives him is soft for a moment before he smirks, “Yeah, I bet you have, bro, making me do all the work.” Louis rolls his eyes. Right. “We both know you’d rewrite everything I did, don’t start.” He goes back to scribbling on his legal pad. “Not my fault you’re a shitty scribe.” “And not mine that you’re neurotic, is it.”

Zayn smirks again. They’ve both got their laptops but Louis is currently scrolling through an old forum for helicopter pilots in California and Zayn’s just finished a bit of a monologue about hesitation and fulfillment, how to build in suspense without it being a let-down with what they’re working with.  
They’ve got twenty-three pages of writing divided into something like fifteen sequences; Shawne’s been pulling them contacts for at least a few locations and the rest they’ve still got studio access to fill. “So maybe we do something with the cuts, then, like, build up a kind of--”

“Uh, Louis?” and the look on his face is so- “Hang on a sec, shut up.”

Zayn stands up and starts scribbling on the whiteboard they’ve never used beyond pushing it out of the way every day; draws a line down the middle and holds his laptop on his arm in one hand and starts listing scenes with the other. _Fire_ on one side, _Polaris_ on the other. And on and on, minutes of it. Louis doesn’t want to interrupt but he has no idea what he’s doing; the left side is way shorter than the right and it eventually slows down before Zayn turns and says his name. “ _Lou_.” He’s missing something, yet to catch on. And it’s big. Zayn has a look in his eyes like they just figured out how to pull off teleportation again. He looks back at the lists of scenes. Fuck.  
“Lou. We have two separate films here.”

They’ve been aiming for dedicated filming starting in June anyway so there’s still time to adjust everything, spend an entire four hour stretch later that week overhauling the entire goddamn script and simplify it into _Post_ as a short and then whatever else into whatever else, something longer. Maybe an actual feature.  
Wants to call it _Heart_.

 

 

_PART NINE: THE FIRE_

 

It’s a controlled burn at this point, from what Pete’s told him they’re mostly just monitoring that it doesn’t spread outside their predicted zones and whatever. They’re still miles and miles away but it smells so strong, somehow never thought about a wildfire producing that same kind of smoke that carries, at this scale can catch it from this far. Zayn is on the edge of his seat looking out the front of the car, watching the stretch of smoke in the distance with the same kind of fervor he had following Liam around on his bike through Charleston that one night, like he’s already got a camera on his shoulder.

They find Pete in a pickup truck a few miles farther and he looks the part of a fire ranger completely, white hair kept short beneath a brimmed hat that Harry would probably wear, bright orange shirt tucked into his khakis.

“Hello boys, found it alright?” They shake hands and Louis says, “Yeah yeah, not bad at all,” Zayn pulling his hair into a ponytail out of the corner of his eye. They get their bags from the trunk and then Pete gives them the option of crowding into the cab or taking the back and it's a quick glance to confirm and Zayn's smile that finds them with the wind in their hair for the quick trip past a sign something station down a dirt road

This sequence had first showed up in the middle of the script, a bit of a transition between other things that Zayn had written in italics next to a line about waiting- _the fire waits to burn._ Louis hadn’t asked what it meant or where it came from but it became the first item of a list. _The fire waits to burn. The song waits to be sung. The heart waits to love._ They’d talked about active and passive voice, wound around the idea of distance and proximity; in between production sessions for Olympian it became a bit of a tradition to shoot back and forth trying to get at anything visual. A forest fire, an empty house, the Pacific Ocean.

Pete gives them a quick rundown of what to expect, the general route they’ll take around the thousand acres the fire spans right now and then they all climb into the helicopter and five minutes later they’re rising straight into the air, the landing pad shrinking beneath them. Louis thinks he might be sick for a moment, panics because this is an hour of filming they won’t get another shot at but then his body adjusts, feels like his blood levels out again and it’s fine. He strains his head to the glass of the window trying to see as the truck disappears from view and then Pete’s voice is in the speaker of his headset, “We’re headed for the south line, whenever you’re ready you can go ‘head.” Zayn’s already reaching for his camera.

It’s breathtaking, really. All those documentaries and lessons throughout his life that talk about how necessary wildfires are for ecosystems aren’t enough to quell the instinct he still feels at needing to put it out, to protect what’s still in front of its path. But it's impossible to ignore how beautiful it is either, even so focused on the screen of the camera. Spends the whole two hours thinking about the meadow on the way home, the new grass and little flowers Liam had kept picking from the dirt, Harry licking peanut butter off a spoon. Niall letting him back in.

 

-

 

It’s the middle of the night; Zayn went to bed two hours ago so it’s just Louis and his laptop screen in their living room, warm in the spring air of May before they turn on the air conditioning at night. The walls are bouncing back the light from his computer, cutting between light sky and dark water and trying for something less jarring in underwater and above. Has been thinking about the color of light here in a vague way since the first stuff they filmed and now it’s right in front of him: compared to anything from the east coast there’s a warmth to it here. Not sure it’s good or bad but it makes him homesick when he thinks about it. Cold nights in the spring that meant blankets, not a fan blowing at you head-on. Holding close to Niall next to him, pulling his quilt up to their chins.

When his phone buzzes under his leg he sees the time first, 3:09 and it’s him, _had a dream about you._ He must just be waking up for work, first alarm maybe. Louis can’t get used to feeling this lucky.   
_Isn’t it so quiet you could swear the heart is telepathic. Isn’t it–_

Still feels like he’s flying blind a lot of the time; hadn’t realized before how _off_ it had been before, everyone else and months ago. Not sure it’d be fair to say this is what it should have been like but it’s there. That it should be like this.  
Types back _oh yeah?_ letting him do with that whatever he wants, tired all the sudden. It takes a few minutes and Louis knows he’s hit snooze, gets up and brushes his teeth, gets in bed.  
_can’t wait til you’re here_  
He smiles, kicks his sheet down farther. It’s so hot already. _Me either, same, me too. Good morning._ Turns the light off.  
_morningggg. go to sleep_

 

 

_PART TEN: THE HOUSE_

 

Zayn explains what they’re going for this afternoon to their small crew of friends by referencing all those empty houses from when skateboarding was just coming up, the way they filmed all their shit in empty pools, sneaking into abandoned homes, trying to invent whatever they could on makeshift boards with no helmets. Something about that fits. Reminds Louis of being a kid, moving houses and how simple it was, or could be. Trying for that like an ocean, a poem in the middle of the night. As inevitable.

 _love is a house with many rooms. some days there are more rooms than others. rooms disappear & come back, disappear & come back. in some of the rooms, windows are open. some of these windows carry the scent of breakfast being made. some of these windows carry the sound of a television with a show you used to watch. some of the rooms have closed windows, & the sunlight hits them in such a way as to remind you of a body of water, a lake, & a hesitancy to enter it. some of the rooms have no windows. in these windowless rooms there is still sunlight & it is in these rooms where the dust falls most clearly. some of the rooms some of the rooms are just a doorway & it is these where you spend most of your time. one room has never heard the word ‘heart.’ another room only knows the words ‘good morning.’ some of the rooms, many of the rooms are not meant to be slept in. some of the rooms haven’t even been seen, & some of the rooms that have been seen can’t be described. some of the rooms haven’t been made. some of the rooms, many of the rooms, you’ve never been in. the only certain thing about this house is, whenever you enter it, it is yours._  
It’s dusk, and then the blue night, and then the night. All night. And then sunrise from the roof, the earliest edge of dawn the longest moment of their lives. Two minutes of playback. The sun, endless light. Close enough to touch.

 

 

_PART ELEVEN: OCEAN BULLSHIT NO. 2_

 

Harry comes to visit two days after his last class of the semester, the first flight west out of O’Hare on a Sunday morning. When he walks out of security Louis is waiting for him this time, a happy kind of anxious, excited because they haven’t done this since New York, visiting each other from far away, and it feels good. Harry in his arms pulling him back and forth a few times on his feet, their first exchanges into each other’s hair. “Hi, Lou,” “Hi, Harry. Good to see you.” “You too.” He’s carrying a weekender and his camera bag and a bottle of water, no coat just like he’d proclaimed via text packing days ago. “Did you check the forecast?” as he pulls away and Harry frowns, hesitant, “Yeah, before I left.” “You saw the rain, then? I didn’t want to rub it in-” “Fuck off, it’s not going to rain.” Louis shakes his head, trying for grim. Harry will always fall for it, even if he doesn’t. “You’re lying. Don’t lie to me.” It’s slipping, doesn’t care, “I’m sorry, it sucks... the one time it rains in California and-” “It’s not funny. Here I am fresh off a plane from the fucking tundra and you’re trying to trick me into thinking this blue sky is going to turn to rain. What a friend.” Louis grins at him through the sunlight, now they’re outside and blinded by it, and laughs, “Couldn’t resist.” Harry glowers at him and Louis ignores it, the standard, “How was your flight?” that Harry shrugs at, “TSA gave me shit about my film again, but otherwise good.” He’s jumpy again, obviously excited to be here, “How are you, how’ve you been? Film’s done?” and that Louis can grin about it is a goddamn miracle so he does. “Yep, all done.” Harry looks over at him and grins back, “Look at us doing shit like we have any clue.”

It’s the equivalent of a long long weekend in the middle of the week; they’re finalizing their second project with Olympian and even though _Post_ is done and off for mastering, etc they’re still busy with the loose ends. The premiere here, setting up for the opening in New York, moving back across the country; Harry is literally the only person he can imagine coming in the middle of the end like this and not getting in the way or making it worse. It’s nice just to have a break, too. Doesn’t mind spending a dragged out afternoon at the beach listening to Harry’s crit week spiel all the way through squinting at photos on his phone, his plans for the summer teaching some more, a show in July, another in August. He’s right. They are doing shit like they have a clue.

 

-

 

All three of them go to one of the standing dinner things Nick hosts as his condo on Wednesdays that doesn’t start til eight; Harry shines like a goddamn piece of glitter, makes the whole table laugh about Chicago and growing up with Louis and whatever, anything. Nick catches his eye across the table and they share a smile that Louis can tell is mostly Nick piecing things together, _so this is Harry then_ and he smiles back. He’d told him weeks ago he was thinking about moving and Nick had looked sad, like he’d miss him, asked where to and Louis had shrugged. “Back east, haven’t decided.” He probably knows him well enough by now to know he only halfway means it. next really beyond filming and hopefully seeing Niall and hopefully having Thanksgiving back in his own house again forever. New York seems too easy. Charleston is there. And Nick is going to be in Los Angeles forever. They haven’t spent time alone together in over a month and it kind of feels alright, like they’re fading into something already in the past. Hopes Nick doesn’t feel it any worse than he does. Maybe it was always inevitable.

There’s a part of him that knows in the right circumstances this could have worked out. Could have met Nick and felt it, the same way he knows anyone could meet anyone. Niall could still, New York could shove someone at him that changes everything. But here and now it’s the once in a lifetime kind of shit; he and Nick didn’t line up and so far Niall is still asking him to come. Zayn hasn’t been to many of these with the way his schedule with Arthur tended to run but he fits in regardless, their group inevitably full of people he knows from other parties, other nights just like this.

They stay late, partially to let Louis’ buzz die down to drive them home and partially because that’s what everyone does, and if Harry disappears on the balcony for an hour it’s nothing unexpected. He’s got one of those smiles that lingers on his face for hours when he gets back, _it’s good to be here_ kind of thing, and it feels like the same potential Louis had left Charleston with. Thinks maybe Harry could get this place to stick.

The walk to the car feels farther than when they’d arrived, why is that, past a bar playing some song so loud it spills out onto the street and suddenly it’s one of many goodbyes he’s started cataloging, a last night exactly like this. For just a moment it’s sad, a wave of _what could have been_ that he feels heavy. But the light pollution against the clouds reminds him of bigger and better, of a few other places he still wants to conquer. Ever onward. Something as inevitable as nighttide.

It feels like a rock in his hand.

 

 

 

_PART TWELVE: FIN_

 

New York looks like nostalgia personified from the back of a cab at seven pm on a Friday this early in the summer. Like a dream; soft golden sun through the spaces between buildings hitting the sidewalk, everyone walking easy, no rush. Backseat and he’s thinking about Charleston, can’t wait to get _home_ home but for now this is definitely good enough. Within arm’s reach, practically. He smiles. He’s had the address scrolled up on his phone since the plane, had to keep going back through Niall’s new incoming messages asking where he was _now_ to find it but now he can’t stop, looks at _53rd and 7th_ in a gray box rarely devoid of any exclamation points and notices he’s shaking.

Niall’s standing on the sidewalk when the cab pulls up, hands in his pockets and a grin he’s completely giving in to, blinding.

They keep turning.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr](http://clarev.tumblr.com) / [here are vibes](http://scprogress.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [aphelion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664613) by [temerity (forsanethaec)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsanethaec/pseuds/temerity)




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